THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


LYRICS  FROM 
LOTUS  LANDS 

FLORENCE  LAND  MAY 


THE   POET   LORE   COMPANY 
BOSTON 

1911 


Copyright,  1910,  by  Floren  e  Land  May 
All  rights  reserved 


The  Gorham  Press,  Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


PS 


TO  MF  FATHER 


e 

£  FOREWORD 

^™  V 

2         The  dialect  poems  are  the  result  of  a  childhood         / 
EJ     spent  at   Rosedale  Plantation,  north  Louisiana,     / 
and  of  later  observations  of  negro  characteristics 
in    small    towns,   whereas   California,   in   which 

5*       state  the  writer  has  resided  for  the  past  six  years, 

J5      has  proved  a  fount  of  inspiration. 

g  The  panorama  of  sea,  sky,  fog,  cloud,  islands, 
and  mountains  that  enwraps  San  Francisco 
might  well  inspire  a  prose  writer  to  poetic  musings, 
which  extended  journeys  throughout  the  Golden 

o       State  have  emphasized  in  the  case  of  the  author, 

•£  who  tentatively  presents  Lyrics  from  Lotus  Lands 
to  the  public. 

in 


CONTENTS 
LYRICS  FROM  LOTUS  LAND 

The  Dance  of  the  Maple  Leaves  ....  13 

My  Ship  of  Dreams 14 

A  Japanese  Mother's  Lament     ....  14 

The  New  Moon  Races  the  Evening  Star       .  15 

To  the  Pea  Blossom 18 

The  Adopted  Child 18 

Love's  Pain 20 

The  Buck  Eye  Glorious 21 

The  Mists   ' 22 

My  Bark 22 

The  Monkey  Flower 24 

Tears 25 

A  Man  is  Young  at  Sixty 26 

Easter  Lilies 27 

Victory 28 

Melting  Snows 31 

My  Old  Companion 33 

There's  a  Song  in  my  Soul  for  You      .      .  34 

Mary   (My  Daughter} 35 

Ashes    of  Love 36 

The  One  Woman 37 

The  Blue  Flower 37 

To  the  Pink  Locust 38 

Do  Not  Ask  Me  to  Forget 39 

Oh!  Why  Do  We  Sigh!          40 

Dream  Shadows 41 

The  Wild  Rose 42 

Imagination 43 


Contents 

My  Dearest  Hope 44 

0  Rose  so  Fair  and  Slender 46 

To  My  Bungalow 47 

My^  Ringless  Hands 48 

This  Wicked  City 49 

The  Solitary  Peak       . 50 

Passion's  Pilgrimage 51 

Star-Lady 54 

My  Cross 56 

Could  Ye  Not  Watch  With  Me  One  Hour     .  57 

Thou  Art 58 

Not  Forever  'Mid  the  Roses 59 

Genius 62 

Laughing  Eyes 66 

The  Blasted  Tree 67 

My  Shadoiv  Soul 68 

Love's  Harp 70 

Something  Withheld  from  Thee  To-day  .      .  75 

The  Boy 76 

The  Awakening 78 

The  Almond  Bloom 80 

Peace 81 

My  Wife 83 

The  Difference 83 

Waitin'  for  Me      ....  85 

The  Surf .  86 

At  the  Old  Trysting  Place 87 

The  Sunset  Hour 88 

Danny  Girl 89 

Margy        91 

The  Little  Black  Girl  and  the  Heathen  Chinee  92 

As  I  Sits  All  Lonely 94 

Cotton  Bolls  'Gainst  Bullets         ....  96 

America  98 


(  ontents 

The  Ship  of  Death  101 

The  Firefly 102 

The  Fleet    .  103 

Dear  Little  Girl  Named  "Yon"   ....  105 

My  Soul  and  I 106 

The  Main  to  the  Flower 108 

The  Pipe  Dream  of  a  Night 110 

The  Rose's  Courtship 110 

Hands  White  and  Broirn  112 


LYRICS  AND  LEGENDS  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AND   THE  WEST 

Alcatraz 117 

California  Poppies      .......  120 

And  All  Her  Days  were  Waiting     .      .      .  121 

Rushes  by  the  Lake 123 

A  Legend  of  Blue  Lakes 125 

California  Wild  Flowers        129 

In  the  Shoshone  Land 130 

Passing  the  Salton  Sea  at  Sunset          .      .  132 

Fishers  of  Avalon 135 

Summer  Hedges  of  Lake  County,  California  137 

ToO-Kiku 138 

The  Forgotten  140 

The  Fog 142 

0  Twining  Flower 143 

San  Rafael 144 

The  Basket  Maker 146 

Mahala  (The  Weeper) 147 

Laughing  Mary 148 


Contents 
DIALECT  SONGS  AND  LIGHT  VERSE 

Keep  Movin' 163 

You's  Treated  Me  Mean 165 

0  Sallie  Anne 166 

Hoot,  Owl,  Hoot!  Up  Dat  Tree   ....  167 

My  LilV  Yaller  Rose 168 

Will  You  be  My  Squaw  Man?    ....  169 

Lullaby,  De  Conjure  Eye 170 

Mammy's  Fav'rite 172 

I'm  Lonesome  and  Tm  Blue        ....  173 

I'm  Going  A-cotin' 174 

Cotton  Pickin'  Joe 175 

I'm  Agoin'  Away 176 

She's  Cullud,  Same  as  Me     ...  177 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  MAPLE  LEAVES 

Iris  blooms  are  fading  fast, 
Trembling  jade  of  rice  fields  past; 
Mauves  and  pinks  —  supernal  hues 
Of  summer  rippled  into  dews 
Of  autumn.     O-Kiku  sheds 
Colors  changing  from  her  beds, — 
Woven  streams  and  clouds  and  snows 
Hushed  into  quivering  changing  glows. 


Maple  leaves  o'er  hillsides  round : — 

Yellows,  reds,  protean,  found: — 

Dance  in  fluttering,  flowing  gold. 

Myriad  times  the  story  told 

By  dainty  geisha's  graceful  sleeves, 

Painted  like  the  crimsoned  leaves. 

Bending  forms,  kimonas  gay 

The  Dance  of  the  Maple  Leaves  portray! 


MY  SHIP  OF  DREAMS 

O  Bird  on  dove-toned  drooping  wing! 

0  Sky!  that  splendid  robes  doth  fling, — 
A  mantle  changing  for  the  lea, 

My  ship  comes  aged  from  the  Sea! 
A  spirit  at  the  helm  —  ah  me ! 

1  send  it  back  —  and  watch  it  far  — 
Its  ghostly  sails  and  dragging  spar. 

For  Ship  of  Dreams  it  is  grown  gray; 
And  dare  not  let  a  moment  stay 
For  'reft  am  I  of  all  save  those 
Memories  shaded  like  the  rose! 

The  Shade  is  Spirit  of  my  youth 
Returned  to  tell  me  all  the  truth. 
Tho'  young  in  heart,  I'm  old,  you  see, 
Nor  love,  nor  troth  nor  hope  for  me! 

I'd  cast  them  all  in  one  frail  bark, 
When  pulsed  my  blood  as  soared  the  lark. 
O,  sweetest  dreams!     O,  meadows  fair! 
My  ship  with  Love  awaits  me  there! 


A  JAPANESE  MOTHER'S  LAMENT* 

All  my  delight  having  perished  hopeless  I  remain, 
'Twas  only  a  dream  of  spring,  alas! 
The  dripping  rain  of  my  tears  will  never  cease, 
My  sleeves  will  never  again  become  dry, 
Never  again  will  skies  grow  clear  for  me! 
*Adapted  from  Lafcadio  Ream's  "A  Woman's  Diary." 
14 


I  feel  anxious,  sad  o'er  the  pain  of  his  dear  heart, 

Knowing  what  already  lies  within  my  own ! 

A  son  was  born  to  us,  but  alas, 

Joy  was  transitory  in  our  house! 

From  the  decrees  of  heaven  there  is  no  appeal. 

I  expiate  some  wrong  unknown,  done  in  another 

life; 

Else  had  not  all  my  children  been  taken  from  me. 
A  boy,  the  last,  and  I  felt  so  strong  to  give  him 

birth! 

Once  having  known  the  delight  of  a  mother, 
Deign  to  think  upon  what  lies  at  the  door  of  my 

heart ! 

Gone,  alas!  the  hoped-for  joy  of  living! 
A  reproach  am  I!  a1'  ihe  delight  having  perished 
Hopeless  I  remain    :i  was  only  a  dream  of  Spring, 
alas! 


THE  NEW  MOON  RACES  THE  EVENING 
STAR 

A  silv'ry  bow  hangs  low  in  the  sky, 

Where  rides  my  Love  ?     Where  hides  my  Love  ? 
She  sails  o'er  garden  and  flower  and  tree, 

Why  sighs  my  Love  ?     Why  cries  my  Love  ? 

The  new  moon  races  the  evening  star  — 
Who  guides  my  Love  ?  derides  my  Love  ? 

15 


Oh!  Luna,  a  thing  of  rare  beauty  you  are! 
Why  sighs  my  Love  ?     Why  cries  my  Love  ? 

The  moon-babies  peep  through  the  shad'wv  leaf — 
Why  calls  my  Love  ?  What  'falls  my  Love  ? 

W  9  V 

The  fair  lily's  wrapt  tight  up  in  her  sheaf  - 
Why  sighs  my  own  dear  Love? 

There's  a  star  in  the  Heavens  we've  ever  missed, 
O  weep,  my  Love  —  O  keep  my  Love! 

There  are  dews  in  the  air  that  have  never  kissed, 
Where  sleeps  my  Love  —  she  weeps,  my  Love. 

Oh !  Luna  a  thing  of  rare  beauty  you  are !  — 
Who  guides  my  Love  —  derides  my  Love?  — 

But  you  are  never  my  sweetheart,  my  pride  — 
You  are  never  my  lost  Love  —  my  bride ! 

Where  rides  my  Love  —  Where  hides  my  Love  — 
Where  hides  my  own  dear  Love  ? 

0  star!  the  dust  you  threw  in  my  eyes 
Deceived  my  Love,  bereaved  my  Love, 

Hiding  'neath  lily-pads,  streamlet  and  sky  — 
My  dear  little  Love,  I've  lost  her  for  aye. 

Where  rides  my  Love  —  where  hides  my  Love — 
Where  hides  my  own  dear  Love  ? 

1  hear  the  song  of  the  thrush  sweep  by  - 

O  list,  my  Love  —  O  hist,  my  Love ! 

My  sweet  little  Love,  I've  lost  her  for  aye, 

O  weep,  my  Love,  O  keep  me,  Love. 

16 


The  New  Moon  race*  tin'  rn-ning  star, — 

Where  rides  my  Lord 

Where  hides  my  Lore! 

The  moon -babies  peep  through  the  shad'wy  leaf; 

The  Lily-hud's  wrapt  tight  up  in  her  sheaf; 

Where  rides  my  own  dear  Love  ? 

Where  rides  my  Love? 

Where  hides  my  Love? 

Oh  Luna!  a  thing  of  rare  beauty  you  are! 

Shining  o'er  lily-pad, 

Mountain  and  star! 

My  dear  little  Love, 

I've  lost  her  for  aye! 

Where  hides  my  Love? 

Where  rides  my  Love? 

Where  hides  my  own  dear  Love? 

The  pale  star  drops  into  silvery  mist, 

There  are  dews  in  the  air  which  have  never 

kissed, 
Where  rides  my  own  dear  Love? 


17 


TO  THE  PEA  BLOSSOM 

Ships  come  floating  o'er  my  lawn, 
With  sails  expanded;   fairy  down 
Of  rainbow  fogs,  made  gay  with  drifts 
Of  perfect  bloom  'pon  mystic  rifts. 

Roses  mounting  higher  —  high! 
Wistaria  faint  against  clear  sky ! 
Oriole  sending  liquid  notes  — 
Song  of  silver  to  me  floats ! 

Still  it  is  the  myriad  shrouds- 
Colors  stolen  from  far  clouds  — 
Of  Pea  Blossoms,  faintly  pale, 
That  swing  nearer  in  the  gale. 

Tiny  boats  in  which  our  hopes 
Go  sailing  gay  to  meet  the  spring ; 
Perfumes  distilled  from  fair  thoughts, 
Satisfying  joy  do  bring. 

Myriad  sails  of  every  hue, 
Morn-enshrined  with  the  dew! 
Come  the  fairy  ships  like  dawn  — 
Pea  Blossoms  across  mv  lawn ! 


THE  ADOPTED  CHILD 

Tiny  Babe  upon  my  breast, 
Fluffing  golden  head  at  rest; 
Sweetly  tender,  gently  mild 
Beats  my  love  for  my  adopted  child. 

18 


Gift  sent  drifting  from  the  sky, 
White  of  cheek  and  blue  of  eye, 
To  teach  ine  something  of  that  joy 
Which  crowns  the  mother  with  her  hoy. 

Heir  to  fair  ancestral  name, 
Lifted  now  above  all  shame: 
Birth  hid'n  in  mysterious  past, 
Law  of  Love  thine  own  at  last. 

Tiny  Babe  upon  my  breast, 

The  way  of  mothers  is  the  best. 

Closer,  closer,  closer,  Dear! 

I  hear  my  husband's  step.     'Tis  near. 

Thy  Father,  child,  and  only  thine! 
Altho'  I  admit  the  whim  was  mine 
That  brought  thee  to  us,  safe  and  fast, 
Adopted  child  of  doubtful  past. 

Oh,  we  will  make  of  thee  a  man ! 
We'll  do  it  if  a  mortal  can ; 
Thy  part  to  fill  our  hearts  so  drear, 
Thy  part  our  childless  hearth  to  cheer. 

We  give  thee  all,  oh,  baby,  mind! 
The  place  of  Son  —  all  love  entwined ! 
Thou  can'st  not  know  the  brimming  joy 
As  I  press  to  my  heart  my  little  boy! 


19 


LOVE'S  PAIN 

There's  Love's  bright  wing  of  radiant  hue 
Brings  Love's  delight  to  me  and  you, 
But  who  can  fathom,  who  portray 
Love's  pain! 

Love's  face  beams  fair  with  rosy  light, 
A  beacon  in  the  darksome  night, 
Yet  mid  her  royal  splendors  dwells 
Love's  Pain. 

Hope's  bouyant  arms  dull  care  caressing, 
Life's  weary  course  brings  still  a  blessing, 
Yet  'neath  its  joy  Love's  restless  cry 
Returns  again. 

O'er  Ocean's  restless,  gleaming  wave, 
Her  caverns  deep  a  haunting  grave 
Voices  echo  strange  and  drear — 
Love's  pain. 

Nor  man  nor  maid  e'er  pauses  till 
The  breath  is  hushed,  the  heart-beat  still 
And  hovering  Angels'  voices  chant 
Refrain. 


20 


THE   BUCK   EYE   GLORIOUS 

Flower  tree  with  a  common  name, 
Flower  tree  of  glorious  fame. 
Spreading  branch  of  a  roseate  hue ;  — 
Washed  in  gold,  with  rivals  few! 

All  the  year  thy  feet  of  green 
Trampling  bravely  —  now  are  seen 
O'er  the  mountain's  sloping  sides, 
O'er  the  vales  with  yearning  strides. 

Through  the  silver  winter's  rain 
Pointed  to  with  rude  disdain, 
As  thy  polished  leaves  are  spread 
To  soft  sighs  of  winds  o'erhead. 

In  the  spring  time  takest  thy  cheer, 
Suns  and  skies  thou  dost  revere; 
Flower-tree  with  a  common  name; 
Springing  into  sudden  flame. 

Flower-tree  with  a  common  name; 
Flower-tree  of  glorious  fame; 
Thus  thou  dost  our  faith  renew 
Spreading  branch  of  varied  hue. 


21 


THE  MISTS 

Ocean's  near  her  ripples  graying, 
She  stretches  hand-clasps  to  skies,  swaying! 
Far,  too  far,  for  vision's  seeing, 
Wheeling  gulls  to  the  West  are  fleeing. 

Mists  of  silver  shroud  the  shore; 
Slim,  haunted  peaks  veiling  o'er; 
Serene  mesas  blurring  fast; 
Mystic  maidens  blow  a  blast. 

Flowers  bloom  amid  the  mist: 
Rainbows  where  the  sun  has  kissed; 
Silv'ry  sea  'gainst  silv'ry  sky! 
Silv'ry  birds  a- wing  on  high. 


MY  BARK 

My  bark  goes  merrily  out  to  sea, 
Freighted  high  with  thoughts  from  me; 
Sails  Love-crimsoned,  moist  with  dew, 
Winds  that  blow  my  bark  are  true! 

Gone  the  Spirit  of  my  youth, 
Haunted  by  the  dreaded  truth. 
Dreams  blown  reckless  to  the  sea, 
Caught  by  storms — I  surrender  thee! 

22 


The  roses  in  my  garden  sigh: 
A  lily  breathed,  aloud,  her  troth; 
The  white-bird  soars  so  high,  so  high! 
My  doubt,  sent  back  to  me  Ts  wroth. 

For  Love  came  from  the  songful  wave, 
Love  supernal,  young  and  brave, 
And  manned  my  bark,  all  fluttering  gold; 
They  come  not  back  —  and  I  am  old ! 

And  in  my  garden,  sweet,  I  stand; 
Breezes  billowing  o'er  the  land. 
Beyond  my  window  a  frame  of  sea, — 
Haunting  voices  float  to  me. 

Spectral  hands  call,  tipped  with  pain, — 
Hands  have  souls  that  come  again; 
Dismembered  are  they  from  the  frame 
Of  man,  whose  sin  hath  wrought  their  shame! 

The  roses  in  my  garden  sleep, 
So  nimbly  the  noon-odors  creep; 
T  sit  alone  in  the  wicker  chair; 
My  spirit  seems  to  rise  in  air. 

And  o'er  the  seas  there  comes  a  bark! 
But  see!   it  is  more  lovely  —  hark! 
So  fair  the  journey,  serene  my  breath, 
I  cannot  think  that  this  is  death!  ! 


THE  MONKEY-FLOWER 

Only  a  yellow  Monkey-Flower. 
Swaying  wild  in  a  windy  bower, 
Springing  gaily  from  gray  stones, 
Singing  high  in  shrillest  tones. 

Now  chattering  to  the  bluish  skies 
Now  hailing  clouds,  that  flaming  rise, 
Wandering  vessels  calling  home, 
Sensing  far  the  storm  winds'  roam. 

Clinging  to  thy  slipp'ry  hold 
'Neath  the  granite's  time-seamed  fold; 
Curving  ear  to  tempest's  blast, 
Safely  lying  down  at  last. 

Slumbering  lightly,  soon  to  wake 
Ere  the  morning's  golden  break! 
Gay  art  thou,  O,  monkey-flower! 
Gathering  sunbeams  for  thy  bower. 

Pittiest  thou  the  granite  spires, 
Rearing  crests  without  desires; 
Bared  to  heaven's  piercing  ray, 
Scatterest  brightness'  long  thy  way. 

Envying  not  the  meadows  gemmed 
With  topaz;  golden  stemmed. 
Homely  little  useful  flower 
Swinging  high  in  windy  bower! 
24 


Tears,  ceaseless  tears, 

Why  art  thou  flowing? 

Drops  of  dew  on  the  roses  blowing  - 

Tears,  ceaseless  tears! 

Tears,  joyful  tears, 

Of  youth  so  fleeting; 

The  maiden's  answer  to  Love's  greeting,- 

Tears,  joyful  tears! 

Tears,  hopeless  tears, 

For  Ix>ve  that's  dying; 

Tho'  fleet  his  step,  and  deep  his  sighing,— 

Tears,  hopeless  tears! 

Tears,  sacred  tears, 

Old  age  thy  token; 

The  impulse  slowed,  the  spirit  broken, — 

Tears,  sacred  tears! 

Tears,  useless  tears, 

Whate'er  thy  mission, 

Far  better  smiles  than  grief's  contrition 

Tears,  useless  tears! 


A  MAN  IS  YOUNG  AT  SIXTY 

We  may  buckle  on  our  armor, 
Laugh  'til  our  heads  are  gray, 

Youth's  petals  have  all  fallen, 
Though  Autumn's  tints  be  gay. 

The  heart  is  young  at  sixty, 
The  laburnum  on  the  wall 

Glows  golden  as  the  seasons 
Chase  each  the  other's  call. 

And  Old  Year  saves  her  glories 
'Til  waning  months,  when  leaves 

Shift  like  butterflies  drifting  — 
She  gathers  in  her  sheaves. 

We  need  the  man  of  sixty, 
We  need  his  mellowed  brain, 

We  need  his  heart  all  gloried, 
And  gentled  o'er  with  pain; 

We  need  him  as  a  leader, — 
Now  is  his  grandest  chance: 

A  man  is  young  at  sixty, 
So  tune  up  —  let  us  dance! 


26 


EASTER  LILIKS 

Easter  lilies,  satin  pale, 
Twining  sacred  altar  rail; 
Starring  windows,  flower- wreathed, 
Petal  white  and  bud  unsheathed. 

Of  the  living  Christ  a  symbol 
With  the  blood  of  Saints  a  tremble; 
Immortal  in  sweet  purity, 
Peaceful  in  security. 

Stamens  slim  all  tipped  with  gold 
Telling  story,  story  old, 
Of  that  day  of  sweet  surprise 
When  the  Christ  our  Lord  did  rise. 

Easter  lilies,  satin  pale. 
Twining  sacred  altar  rail. 
Starring  windows,  flower- wreathed, 
Petal  white  and  bud  unsheathed. 

Sailing  o'er  mysterious  seas 
WTaft'  by  sail  and  friendly  breeze 
From  thy  billowing  scented  fields; 
Fields  that  thy  blest  beauty  yields. 

Lef-wrapt  bud  unfolds,  unfolds, 
As  the  tuneful  Easter  holds 
Bells  of  silver,  clappers  grim. 
Soften  as  they  tell  of  Him. 

27 


Easter  lilies,  satin  pale, 
Twining  sacred  altar  rail, 
Starring  windows,  flower- wreathed. 
Petal  white  and  bud  unsheathed. 

Easter  lilies  deftly  turned 
By  weary  hands,  while  faces  burned; 
Fashioned  by  an  Art  that  knows 
Naught  but  its  perfection  shows. 

Naught  of  fields  or  clouding  skies! 
Whirls  the  dust-motes  in  their  eyes! 
Rests  the  tousled  head,  in  grief, 
Ton  the  curve  of  lilied  leaf. 

Easter  morn  no  church  bells  toll 
For  the  child  whose  fingers  roll 
Easter  lilies,  phantom  pale, 
For  the  sacred  altar  rail. 

White  lilies,  long,  a  symbol  plain 
Of  hours  crimsoned  o'er  with  pain! 
A  red,  red  drop  upon  each  leaf 
A  burning  tear  'pon  finished  sheaf. 

Easter  lilies,  satin  pale, 
Twining  sacred  altar  rail, 
Starring  windows  flower  wreathed, 
Petal  white  and  bud  unsheathed. 


VICTORY 

Lo!   The  Gates  of  Eden  opened! 

Man,  now  fallen,  passed  and  gone; 
Tears  for  him  a  poisoned  potion,— 

A  curse  upon! 

All  gone  from  him,  joy's  confines  — 
Beauty's  pale  and  mounting  fires. 

Senses  draw  aside  their  curtain  - 
Of  bliss  he  tires! 

Casts  e'en  from  him  painted  cup 
Of  nature  —  filled  to  rolling  brim; 

Dooms  himself  to  walk  in  shadow  - 
His  fate  with  him! 

Rolling  centuries  tell  the  story; 

Divers  nations  breathe  it  far; 
Wandering  still  in  varying  fashion  - 

Clinging  to  spar!  — 

Star  of  hope  that  future's  fortunes, 
May  their  voiceless  hunger  stay, 

Prayers  to  God  for  Moloch's  blessings,- 
They,  darkened,  stray. 

Rearing  temples  to  fair  heavens; 

Built  all  "  with  hands";  — 
Lusting  down  through  endless  ages, 

'Pon  shifting  sands! 
29 


For  power  like  unto  the  angels', 

To  have,  to  do; 
Nor  voice  nor  tempter  cried  in  warning: 

"This  be!    This  do!" 


And  Lust  reared  a  palace  dainty; 

Wove  doors  of  lace 
O'er  the  clearness  of  man's  vision  — 

And  masked  his  face! 

Robbed  him  of  his  Jove-like  beauty, 

Filched  all  his  gold,— 
Even  as  the  dewdrops'  shimmering  quiver 

Twin  pearls  unfold;  — 

Dragged  him  to  the  dregged  fountain 

Of  base  desires; 
Builded  shame  of  myriad  pillars  — 

The  race  expires! 

Now  his  palate  beauty  craving 

Would  make  amends; 
Garners  nature's  wildest  graces  — 

Her  mood  unbends! 

She  sets  a  seal  upon  his  forehead  — 

Some  star  divines  — 
Seals  a  message  to  his  sens, 

His  soul  entwines. 

80 


Fainting  for  a  higher  vision. 

Groping  for  spar! 
He  turns  to  God  for  His  chaste  blessing: 

"  I've  wandered  far." 


MELTING  SNOWS 


Dreamful  snows,  now  melting  fast, 
Melting  snows,  thy  season  past; 
Crowned  the  bearded  Winter  thou; 
Placed  fair  gems  on  Snow  Queen's  brow. 

All  the  locked  Winter  long, 
Thou  the  subject  of  our  song! 
Angel  robes  of  priceless  worth 
Flingest  thou  o'er  a  barren  earth. 

Flights  thou  darest,  which  humble  man, 
Who'll  e'er  follow  if  he  can; 
Fearless  vaulting  dizzy  height, 
E'en  to  bathe  in  star-gold  night. 

Cold  as  blizzard's  in-drawn  breath, 
'Tis  thy  beauty  prates  of  death: 
The  warmest  couch  that  brute  can  find, 
Lies  soft  and  downy  'neath  thy  rind. 

31 


And  where  Borealis  sends 
Clouds  that  roseate  darkness  blends, 
Rays  of  gems  to  circle  birth 
Of  pale  Arctic  Maid  of  Earth, 

Thou,  a  diamond,  all  unset 

Save  by  hoary  peaks  all  met 

To  form  one  majestic  chain 

To  guard  thy  jewels  from  man's  gain. 

Melting  snows  as  cold  as  death! 

Sent  to  fan  the  struggling  breath 

Of  newborn  babe  —  e'en  fairest  spring  — ] 

Come  with  flowers  on  her  wing ;  — 

Rivers  deep  and  torrents  hold, 
Waterfalls  and  chasms  old,— 
A  hollowing  hand,  thou  scoop'st  thy  way, 
Brimming  creeks  in  lovesome  play. 

Melting  snows!   thy  season  past! 
Yet  we  adore  thee  to  the  last, 
As  on  summer's  peak  thy  gleams 
Light  the  threads  of  webbing  dreams. 


32 


MY  OLD  COMPANION 

She  is  my  old  companion, 
My  partner  trusted,  dear! 

We've  weathered  life  together. 
None  other  friend  so  near. 

Some  say  her  beauty's  faded. 
That  time  her  face  has  marred, 

But  I  see  youth's  radiant  blooming. 
E'en  tho'  the  years  have  scarred. 

AYe  sit  there  in  the  gloaming, 
The  children  come  and  go, 

The  wind  sighs  through  the  heather 
Our  secret  dear  to  know. 

It's  Trust  that  laid  foundation 
On  which  have  built  the  years  — 

A  castle  fair,  no  fairer 

E'er  robbed  old  age  of  fears. 

The  children  loiter  longer 
As  shorter  grow  our  days, 

And  I  point  to  their  dear  mother 
And  say:  "  Just  learn  her  wavs!" 


THERE'S  A  SONG  IN  MY  SOUL  FOR  YOU 

There's  a  song  in  my  soul  for  you. 
There's  a  gem  in  the  fallen  dew; 
There's  a  kiss  in  the  star-beam,  a  sweet  repose 
In  the  golden  heart  of  the  full-blown  rose. 

There's  love  in  my  soul  for  you, 
Hands  full  and  a  heart  full  too; 
Your  lips,  a  chalice,  lifted  up 
For  the  wine  of  Love,  a  jewelled  cup. 

You're  my  sweet,  my  poppy  flower. 
Fit  to  grace  an  emperor's  bower: 
And  your  soul  is  mine,  is  mine, 
And  your  heart  is  mine,  is  mine! 

Your  fairy  hands,  your  twinkling  feet, 
Your  drooping  lips  and  your  tearfatt  sweet, 
Sing  of  love,  of  love  full  blown, 
Tho*  your  maiden's  heart  disown 
A  gift  so  sweet,  so  sivcet, 
So  sweet  —  so  sweet. 


MARY  (MY  DAUGHTER) 

Mary,  the  sweet,  the  winsome, 

Blest  be  thy  paths! 
Thy  ways  all  flower  strewn  — 

Thy  song  but  laughs. 

Mary  the  true,  the  faithful, 
God  guard  thee,  dear, 

Bring  thee  life's  blessings 
Thy  paths  to  cheer. 

Thou'st  been  my  best  comfort, 
Thy  feet  ne'er  strayed, 

Nor  thy  girlish  troubles 
Found  thee  dismayed. 

Pure  thy  heart,  thy  soul  pure, 
While  thy  sweet  thought 

Snares  of  youthful  sorrow 
Ne'er  yet  hath  caught. 

May  thy  whole  Fate,  dear, 

Be  like  these  days; 
Choose  thou  the  "  better  part," 

Through  all  thy  ways. 


35 


ASHES  OF  LOVE 

Ashes,  pale  ashes  of  Love, 

Scented  like  leaves  of  the  Rose, 

Scattered  deep,  deep  o'er  my  heart; 
Sacred  among  treasures  are  those! 

As  the  flames  leaped,  leaped  in  my  soul, 
Curling  like  flower-petals  white, 

Gleaming  like  pale-faced  stars 

'Gainst  the  black  pall  of  the  night, 

They  burned  and  burned  like  a  torch, — 
Purer  than  vestal  e'er  exhumed  — 

Through  artery,  vein,  and  the  thought 
Till  my  soul  was  love-illumed. 

Ashes,  pale  ashes  so  dear! 

Deep  as  a  grave  is  thy  mound, 
Covering  so  tenderly  wrought 

For  our  love  whose  limp  wings  are  bound. 

Ashes,  pale  ashes  of  Love, 

Tissue  of  dreams  Heav'n  sent; 
Powder  whose  units  are  gold, 

Power  whose  force  is  all  spent! 

Yet  dearer  than  aught  was  the  soul 
Which  once  spake  fair  to  mine  own ; 

Ashes,  pale  ashes,  I  weep 

O'er  the  gray  grief  thou  hast  sown. 
86 


THE  ONE  WOMAN 

Have  you  seen  her, 

Have  you  kissed  her  ? 

Oh,  do  not  say  that  you  have  missed  her, 

For  she's  fair. 

Would  you  know  her 

If  you  saw  her  ? 

In  your  dreams  you  must  have  kissed  her, 

For  she's  there. 

Would  you  leave  her, 

Dare  deceive  her? 

Would  your  manly  heart  bereave  her  — 

Do  not  dare! 

Yours  forever, 

Ne'er  to  sever, 

E'en  though  through  your  life  you  miss  her 

Everywhere. 


THE  BLUE  FLOWER 

"  Blue,  blue,  eye-blue," 
Thy  drink  the  deeping  dew; 

Fair,  tender,  most  fair, 
My  heart's  for  you. 

37 


"  Blue,  blue,  eye-blue," 
Thy  face  a  fairy's  cup ; 

Sweet,  pure,  most  pure, 
When  thou  look'st  up. 

"  Blue,  blue,  eye-blue," 
The  grass  thy  sacred  bed, 

There's  mating  in  the  land, 
Whom  woulds't  thou  wed  i 

"  Blue,  blue,  eye-blue/' 
The  wind  wooes  thee, 

But  the  sun  shines  enraged  ,- 
The  wind  doth  flee. 

"  Blue,  blue,  eye-blue," 
Thy  mate  the  skies! 

W7hose  smiling  face  alone 
Matches  thine  eves. 


TO  THE  PINK  LOCUST 

O  locust  pink,  so  high,  so  high, 
Blushing  'gainst  cerulean  sky, 
Wafting  sweets  of  rare  perfume, 
Thou  the  fair  spring  doth  exhume. 

Lingering,  trembling  in  thy  grasp, 
Her  magic  hand  thy  leaflets  clasp; 
A  thorn  her  dainty  flesh  doth  tear, 
O  locust  pink,  thou  must  beware! 
38 


The  spring  in  anger  dread  dolh  imir. 
Thy  blush  to  petals  pure  as  pray'r; 
So  rarely  now  thy  face  we  see. 
Peeping  rosily  from  the  tree. 

The  locust  white  spreads  o'er  the  land; 
A  monk  he  roams  in  ghostly  band; 
Yet  out  on  ocean's  western  shore, 
The  locust,  pardoned,  wooes  once  more. 


DO  NOT  ASK  ME  TO  FORGET 

Do  not  ask  me  to  forget, 
Not  yet,  dear  one,  not  yet! 
While  your  lips  and  mine  have  met 
And  your  eyes  with  tears  are  wet! 

Do  not  ask  me  to  for  get  - 
Not  yet,  not  yetl 
Do  not  ask  me  not  to  £/*.*,- 
'7V.s-  bliss,  'tis  bliss, — 

While  you  smile,  you  smile  so  sweet, 
And  the  daisies  kiss  your  feet. 
While  your  arms  around  me  twine, 
And  your  heart  communes  with  mine. 
39 


Do  not  ask  me  not  to  weep, 

Your  love  I  keep, 

O'er  distant  seas  'tiuill  come  to  me, — 

To  me  —  to  mel 


OH!  WHY  DO  WE  SIGH! 

Oh!  Why  do  we  sigh  for  the  love  that's  gone 
Oh,  why  do  we  weep  when  the  day  is  done ; — 
The  day  of  our  heart's  delight, 
Now  shadowed  from  our  sight! 

Bring  back  the  day  that  is  gone. 
Bring  back  the  love  that  lias  flown, 
Bring  back  the  pain,  bring  back  the  joy, 
Bring  back  the  gold  and  the  alloy! 

Oh,  why  do  we  long  for  the  kiss  once  more 
Oh,  why  do  I  cry  when  I  told  him  to  go  ? 
Why  feel  pain  for  Love  that's  flown  ? 
Why  see  beauty  when  'tis  gone  ? 

Bring  back  the  pressure  of  his  arms, 
Bring  back  the  hopes  and  tfie  alarms, 
Bring  back  his  trust,  his  faith  in  me! 
Oh,  love  is  but  a  memory. 

40 


1WKAM  SHADOWS 

Dreams  —  shadows  —  dreams! 

Heal  the  shadows  seem. 
Who  has  e'er  the  gift  to  tell 

The  shadow  from  the  dream ! 

Dreams  —  lazy  dreams, 

Shadows  chasing  shade 
Of  her  who  weaves  thy  warp  and  woof  — 

The  woman  and  the  maid. 

Dreams  —  manly  dreams ! 

Bravely  wove  and  spun; 
But  the  shades  of  night  obscure  the  day 

E'er  dreamer's  goal  be  won. 

Dreams  —  empty  dreams ! 

Still  sacred  e'en  though  false  — 
Ever  the  maiden's  soul  enchants 

In  mazes  of  the  waltz. 

Dreams — languid  dreams! 

While  Love  sails  o'er  the  seas! 
The  maiden's  heart  expands  its   wings   and 
follows 

Fast  the  breeze. 

Dreams — frenzied  dreams ! 

For  patience  long  doth  wait. 
In  dreaming  fancy  still  he's  there 

Beside  the  shining  gate. 

41 


THE  WILD  ROSE 

Why  art  thou  so  wild, 

Thou  graceful  flower, 

Clamb'ring  o'er  thy  bush! 

A  maiden  seeing  thee  would  long 

To  catch  thee  for  thy  blush. 

Daintiest  blossom  of  the  wood, 

Fair  of  soul,  of  changeful  mood, 

Who  will  claim  thee,  who  would  tame  thee, 

Kiss  thy  cheek  'til  it  redder  glows; — 

O  wild  Rose  —  sweet  wild  Rose ! 

The  harebells  look  up  to  thee, 
The  moon  longs  to  race  with  thee; 
The  twittering  birds  thy  laugh  have  heard, 
Tinkling,  tinkling  through  the  wood, 
Sweetest  flower  —  this  thy  mood. 

The  storm  king  coquettes  with  thee, 

The  thunder  peal  threats  at  thee, 

The  pelting  rain  falls  gem  by  gem, — 

Striving  all  thy  glee  to  stem. 

O  wild  Rose  —  daintiest  flow'r  that  blows! 

A  laugh  is  all  thy  language  — 
A  dewdrop  crowns  thy  brow; 
A  sunbeam  nestles  at  thy  breast  — 
The  wind  doth  kiss  thee  now: 
O  wild  Rose  —  wild  Rose ! 
42 


Wild  roue  — fairest  Jiower  that  blown  — 

Thy  smile  Die  sweetest, 

Thy  nod  the  jleetcst, 

O  wild  Rose  —  O  wild  Roue! 


IMAGINATION 

Her  lips  I  press,  red  as  the  wine, 
Her  hair  caress,  ah!  she  is  mine! 
A  prayer  I  breathe  to  the  God  of  all, 
Lest  I  forget  and  Love  may  fall. 

Her  eyelids  close,  her  mouth's  a  rose, 
Her  cheeks'  fair  blossoms  the  south  wind  blows. 
When  our  lips  meet,  ah!  pledge  of  Love! 
Her  breath's  a  spirit  from  above! 

Her  pale  hands  flush  at  finger-tips, 
Like  lotus  lilies  pale  her  lips, 
She  shrinks  away,  afraid,  it  seems. 
My  spirit-maiden's  but  a  dream. 


MY  DESERT  ROSE 

The  south  wind  blows 
Thy  love  to  me, 

My  Desert  Rose ! 
My  being  leaps 
To  wed  with  thee,— 

My  Desert  Rose ! 

Less  than  thy  breath 
Upon  the  air, 
Less  than  thy  smile, 
Divinely  fair, 
I  hold  my  life 
Without  thee,  sweet! 
My  Desert  Rose. 

Less  than  thy  footfall, 
Fairy  light, — 
Thy  feet  like  birds 
Mated  for  flight,— 
I  hold  my  soul 
Unwed  with  thine, 
My  Desert  Rose! 

Less  than  the  starlight 
Of  thine  eyes, 

Burning  lamps  from  Paradise, 
I  hold  my  fate 
From  thee  apart, 
My  Desert  Rose! 


44 


Oh,  come,  come  with  me,  my 
O'er  the  mesa's  blest  repose! 
By  the  streamlet's  limpid  fall; 
Hear,  oh,  hear  the  joy-bird's  call! 

Oh,  come,  come  with  me,  my  Desert  Rose! 
List !  the  voice  of  wooded  close ! 
With  the  night  we'll  speed  our  pace  — 
Past  the  ghosts  of  Desert's  race. 


6 


Oh,  come,  come  with  me,  my  Desert  Rose! 

To  a  land  of  fair  repose ; 

For  the  desert  tastes  of  death, 

Through  the  whirlwind's  stifling  breath. 

Ah,  at  last  with  me,  my  Desert  Rose! 
O'er  the  blushing  mesa  goes ; 
Whilst  the  maddened  death-birds  swoop, 
And  the  distant  hazes  loop. 

Flee  —  thy  hand  in  mine,  my  Desert  Rose ! 
Thy  heart-beat  mine,  my  madness  grows. 
See!  afar  the  desert's  face! 
Hasten,  Love,  thy  faltering  pace! 


O  ROSE  SO  FAIR  AND  SLENDER 

O  Rose  so  fair,  thy  stem  so  slender, 
Where  are  thy  thoughts  the  morn 

When  the  pure  sundrops  kiss  thy  face  — 
Thy  cheek  so  flushed  and  tender? 

Why  weepest  thou,  O  queenly  Rose, 
When  blue  heavens  bend  above  thee, 

When  curling  cloudlets  race  in  space 
To  whisper,  "  Oh,  I  love  thee  ?  " 

What  dream'st  thou  when  the  gaudy  bee 

Soaring  like  lordly  lover 
Scatters  gold  dust  in  thy  face  — 

The  gorgeous  singing  rover! 

What  thinkest  thou  when  a  mortal  maid 
Plucks  thee  for  her  fair  tresses, 

Thy  frail  life  ended  with  the  kiss 

Which  the  maiden's  heart  but  blesses  ? 


TO  MY  BUNGALOW 

Blow,  blow,  fair  winds,  blow 
True  hearts  to  my  bungalow ; 
Shine  sun,  shine  away, 
Bring  her  thy  fairest  day. 

For  my  own  little  love  with  starry  eyes, 
With  footfall  light  —  a  sweet  surprise  - 
Has  set  my  heart  aglow 
Up  here  in  my  bungalow. 

My  bungalow  is  mountain  high, 
Her  gables  kiss  the  cloudless  sky; 
The  mists  float  through  the  open  door 
High  up  in  my  bungalow. 

No  soil  of  earth,  all  pristine  pure, 
No  stain  of  soul,  but  hopes  endure; 
All  fresh  and  fair  the  breezes  blow 
Far  away  in  my  bungalow. 

We  stand  by  the  window  —  she  and  I, 
We  watch  the  dazzled  clouds  go  by; 
So  near  are  we  to  the  heav'ns  above 
The  angels  stoop  to  bless  our  love. 


MY  RINGLESS  HANDS 

Oh,  faithless  cold,  thy  love  grown  old; 
Thy  image  dear,  thy  presence  near! 
Tho'  dark  and  drear  my  sad  thought  trends 
As  I  gaze  on  my  listless,  my  ringless  hands. 

Pretty  they  are,  slender  and  white, 

Dost   remember   the   rainfall   that   first,   dearest 

night  — 

The  pattering  drops,  the  window's  mist, 
As  our  lips,  lingering,  kissed  ? 

'Round  my  tapering  fingers  there  sparkled  a  pearl 
Better  fitted  than  diamonds  for  thine  own  little  girl. 
But  I  sent  the  gem  back,  my  heart  all  ablaze, 
O'er  all  I  had  heard  of  thy  fickle,  false  ways. 

As  I  sit  by  the  window,  the  pattering  rain 
Almost  brings  back  my  love  and  assuages  the  pain . 
In  memory  I  clasp  thee  —  'tis  a  dream  at  most  — 
Oh,  I  think  I  have  seen  thy  very  own  ghost ! 

A  big  diamond  ring  is  pressed  on  my  finger; 
O'er  this  blessed  fact  my  heart  fain  doth  linger. 
I  told  old  dear  Phil  that  his  own  little  girl 
Would  far  rather  have  back  that  same  luminous 
pearl. 

But  Phil,  my  beloved,  has  his  way,  as  he  fears 
That  pearls  are  not  jewels,  but  sundering  tears, 
I  kiss  his  bright  ring,  then  draw  off  the  band  — 
And  gaze  at  my  happy,  my  ringless  hand. 

48 


THIS  WICKED  CITY 

The  earth  leaps  to  skies  serene, 

The  mountains  kiss  the  son : 

The  bay  gleams  fair  in  the  soft  moonbeam, 

Oh,  what  is  this  to  thee  ?     Oh,  what  is  this  to  thee  ? 

For  u  wicked  city  lifts  her  head, 
To  the  stars  of  night,  when  day  has  fled; 
Ten  thousand  diamonds  in  her  crown, 
Ten  million  deck  her  gown. 

She  bleeds  the  country  rich  and  fair, 
For  the  pearls  sown  in  her  hair; 
She  gathers  lifeblood,  clot  by  clot, 
F\>r  her  rubies, —  chide  her  not! 

For  so  it  has  been  since  days  of  old, 
As  breath  beats  faint,  she  takes  her  toll : 
Her  sluggish  veins  must  leap  to  life, — 
Pleasure's  to  her  what  love's  to  the  wife! 

So,  tho'  'tis  a  wicked  city, 

And  'tis  sad,   sad  the  pity 

That  maids'  hearts  must  'broider  her  schemes. 

She  sucks  all  our  gold,  the  tale  is  old, — 

Still  we  give  her  our  fairest  dreams, 

We  give  her  our  fairest  dreams! 


4!) 


THE  SOLITARY  PEAK 

Only  a  mountain,  mountain  old, 
Shining  in  a  sea  of  gold 
Crowned  with  snows  of  dazzling  light, 
Marvelous  beauty  —  wonder-bright ! 

All  thy  dear  companions  gone 
To  the  desert  to  greet  the  dawn  — 
The  chariot-sun  doth  fling  round  thee 
Radiant  bands  for  all  to  see. 

In  the  distant  changing  light, 
Sudden  heaving  into  sight, 
Thou  the  spirit  of  our  youth, 
Holding  scales  of  eternal  truth! 

Thy  crest  piercing  spheres  unseen, 
Whisperest  thou  to  farthest  stars; 
Thou  knowest  all  we  might  have  been, 
Thou  see'st  the  battles  and  the  scars. 

Thou  seemest  young,  thou'rt  old,  we  know- 
Heaved  by  sighs  of  earth  remote; 
Cleft  asunder  —  left  to  grow 
Into  form  and  light  and  snow. 

Fearful  are  thou,  Mountain  Lone! 
Bearing  'loft  thy  pure  white  shaft; 
Swimming  in  'tense  swirling  seas  — 
Light  that  shimmers  fore  and  aft  — 
50 


Purples  clear,  deep  and  serene, 
Pinkish  clouds  for  bridal  couch; 
At  thy  base  a  blackness  leaps 
In  whose  pit  flame-demons  crouch. 

Terrible  art  thou,  lonely  peak; 
Whose  giddy  ascents  humans  seek! 
Chattering,  heartless  ghosts  are  they 
Whom  thou  flingest  in  wrath  away. 

Solitary  greet'st  the  morn ! 

Greet'st  the  eons  yet  unborn; 

Blurred  beyond  mysterious  clouds, 

For  thy  high  thoughts  most  holy  shrouds! 

For  to  God  can'st  show  thy  face! 
Head  all  haloed,  pure  in  grace, 
Whitest  peak!   supernal  snows 
Veil  a  brow  of  rapt  repose. 


PASSION'S  PILGRIMAGE 

What  is  this  burning  in  my  blood  - 
Sweeping  like  a  golden  flood  - 
Picturing  to  my  hidden  thought 
Desires  unimagined  —  sought ! 

Rearing  temples  in  my  sight; 
With  altars  flaming,  dear  delight 
51 


Of  vestals,  pure  and  undefilecl: 
Eyes  downcast  and  unbeguiled !  — 

Sweeping  me  'pon  ocean's  wave  — 
To  Mermaids,  where  sea-dragons  bathe: 
Extending  arms  melting  soft, — 
Pleading  to  be  ta'en  aloft! 

Rising  with  me  to  the  crest 

Of  panting  waves,  with  'guiling  breast; 

Lying  langorous  in  iny  arms, 

Safe  from  storms  and  dire  alarms: 

Drifting  me  to  shores  unknown  — 
Shores  strange,  barren,  and  unshorn 
Of  all  that  makes  a  country  great  — 
Left  in  blest  primeval  state! 

Finding  for  me,  savage  queen  — 
Peeping  slyly  'neath  a  screen 
Of  lashes,  curling  as  a  flower  — 
Dragging  me  to  leafy  bower! 

Waking  me  from  dreamful  rests, 
Stirring  blood  with  weird  requests, 
Tiring  me  of  forest  fires; 
Charging  veins  with  mad  desires! 

Speeding  me  o'er  forest  drear, 
Mountain,  plain,  till  I  draw  near 
The  City  of  my  Dear  Delight 
In  the  vague  and  crowned  night 
52 


Hurrying  me  o'er  curbstone  cold; 
In  my  brain  there  glimmers  gold 
S<  -eking  to  be  jewel-set 
By  the  woman  yet  unmet! 

Doors  are  closed  to  left  and  right, 
flickers  'cross  my  path  a  light : 
I  darkly,  dumbly  stumble  on  - 
Timid  in  the  shivering  dawn! 

Ashes  —  gritty  on  my  lip ! 
Which  the  dews  of  kisses  sip; 
Kisses  rising  from  that  hell, 
Seething  flames  may  all  dispel! 

Purity  fallen  unlocks  her  door,— 
Drifting  spirit-like  before; — 
Vision,  strained  by  maddening  sight, 
Born  of  days  as  black  as  night. 

Days  that  vomit  forth  their  sins; 
Nights  that  veil  the  gates  within 
Till  softly  closed  upon  thy  flight  - 
Swims  before  —  unholy  sight ! 

Back  o'er  forest,  plain,  and  field  - 
Veins  of  dregs  that  will  not  yield 
To  smile  of  flow'r,  skies,  or  song  - 
Drags  my  blasted  soul  along! 

Maidens  pass  in  two  and  threes  — 
Laughing  as  a  summer's  breeze  - 
58 


Shun  the  wreck  of  what  was  I 
As  my  lonely  shade  goes  by! 

Sigh  of  youth  or  tottering  age! 
Passion, —  all  thy  force  I  gauge; 
Fling  thee  from  me  —  thing  accursed  !- 
Throat  thou  art  of  sin  athirst ! ! ! 


STAR-LADY 

O  star-lady !   so  far  away  — 
The  regret  of  to-morrow,  the  gift  of  to-day- 
O'er  billows  fair  thou'st  set  thy  sign, 
The  signal  thine,  the  joy  all  mine, — 
O  star-lady! 

O  star-lady!     To  kiss  thy  hand 
Beneath  thy  smile  I  humbly  stand  - 
To  think  and  dream  all  day  of  thee; 
Oh!  that  were  full  earth's  bliss  for  me! 
O  star-lady! 

O  star-lady!  thy  lips  to  press! — 
Love's  lambent  flame,  a  flower's  caress, 
May  charm  the  tide  in  thy  cold  breast; 
Were  worth  life's  toil  or  lover's  quest, — 
O  star-lady! 

O  star-lady!   had'st  thou  been  true, 
My  life,  my  love,  my  soul  for  you! 
54, 


My  heart's  blood  filtered  through  the  sieve 
Held  by  thy  hand,  a  spell  to  weave; 
O  star-lady! 

Life's  tones  of  dim,  dull  browns  and  grays, 
Life's  tasks  well  fitted  through  joyless  days, 
Thy  sign  still  pointing  in  the  skies 
To  steel  my  hand  yet  blind  mine  eyes; 
O  star-lady! 

Thy  days  of  whitely  burning  lights, 
Thy  silver  eves  and  golden  nights 
Do  mock  and  madden  still  my  brain,— 
One  follower  only  of  thy  train; — 
A  broken  link  of  endless  chain. 

Breathe  not,  lest  in  thy  burning  guess, 
Thy  mem'ry's  darkling  wilderness 
Of  rayless  joys  and  rsee  remorse 
May  halt  thy  step  and  pause  thy  course, — 
O  lady-star! 

O  star-lady!  so  far  away; 
The  ghost  of  drear  to-morrow 
Is  the  passion  of  to-day; 
Yet  it  haunts  me,  calls  me,  bids  me  stay, — 
O  star-lady! 

O  star-lady!  thy  radiant  beams 

Thy  golden  head  with  shimmering  gleams 

Still  pure  and  stainless, 

Holy  seems! 

O  star-lady! 

56 


MY  CROSS 

"  Take  up  thy  cross!'1''     Thy  cross  is  mine: 
Loving  I  bear  it,  Christ  divine. 
My  cross! — things  great,  things  small; 
Thy  radiance  lighting  all. 

My  cross  —  the  burden  of  the  world 
Like  thunder  'thwart  my  path  'tis  hurled; 
I  turn  aside,  the  bolt  to  shirk, — 
Behold!     I  find  I've  still  my  work. 

I  cannot  drop  the  cross  —  'tis  Thine ! 
Tho'  staggering,  shift  it  as  I  may. 
I  seem  to  see  Thy  spirit  yet, 
Gleaming  thro'  the  darkened  way. 

My  cross  —  to  lift  the  load  of  shame, 
My  cross  —  to  lead  the  fallen  to  Thee ; 
No  soul  so  lost,  no  life  so  dark, 
But  can  Thy  star,  by  searching,  see. 

My  cross,  perhaps,  a  little  thing; 

The  trifles  Thou  did'st  not  despise; 
To  caress  a  child,  uplift  a  flower, 

To  bring  a  smile  to  hopeless  eyes. 

And  as  each  loving  deed  I've  done, 

Deeming  it  gracious,  because  'twas  Thine, 

Behold!  my  cross  becomes  so  light, 
I  hug  it  gladly,  call  it  mine. 

I  gaze  upon  the  road  I've  come— 
The  cross  is  heavy,  and  thorns  the  crown; — 

And  lo!  I  find  a  path  of  flowers. 
'Twas  my  own  doubt  that  weighed  me  down. 

56 


Thy  cross  is  ever  light  and  free, 

To  all  who  bear  it  lovingly. 
We  must  not  falter  'long  the  way, 

Nor  deem  the  path  too  rough  to  Thee. 


COULD  YE  NOT  WATCH  WITH  ME  ONE 
HOUR 

O  weary  heart,  whose  fainting  beat 
Wo  s  sin  to  guide  thy  faltering  feet, 
Where  is  thy  God-head,  where  thy  power  — 
"  Could  ye  not  watch  with  me  one  hour?  " 

One  hour  only  at  the  Gate  — 

What  loss  if  still  the  hour,  and  late; 

Or  sad  the  clouds  which  o'er  thee  lower, — 

"  Could  ye  not  watch  with  me  one  hour?  " 

Serener  joys  awaiteth  thee, 
O  hearts  that  chasing  shadows  flee, 
The  sorrowing  crown  buds  into  flower; — 
"  Could  ye  not  watch  with  me  one  hour?  " 

Thy  restless  being's  seething  flood. 
Thy  hope  quiescent,  leaping  blood 
Of  martyrs  crimsoning  thy  veins  - 
Thine  but  to  heal,  not  suffer  pains. 

Think'st  thou  thy  suffering  heart's  intent 
Whose  tasteless  joys  thy  vision's  bent 

57 


Till  sorrow's  mould  encaseth  thee, 
Draws  thee  dearer,  nearer  me  ? 

O  child  of  earth  and  heir  of  Heav'n, 
Take  thou  my  love  in  spirit  giv'n, 
Thy  utmost  thought  and  mine  are  one; 
Thy  heavenly  pilgrimage  begun; 

Doubt's  wayward  course,  crushed  ere  begun; 
Love's  victory  sure,  Love's  triumph  won! 
Thine  the  glad  song  and  thine  the  power, 
"  Could  ye  not  watch  with  me  one  hour  ?  " 


THOU  ART 

Oh!  mighty  Force,  a  part  of  me, 

Buoyant  rising  e'er  to  Thee, 

Chanting  to  the  weary  heart,"  Thou  art!" 

Startling  from  the  doubting  breast 

Vanquishing  fear  and  vainer  quest 

Of  fleeting  joys  from  Thee  apart! 

Each  new  day  purer  than  the  last, 
Each  thought  triumphant  o'er  the  past, 
My  soaring  spirit  winged  flees  to  Thee. 
Through  death  in  life  and  life  in  death, 
With  budding  hope  or  dying  breath, 
My  trusting  love  of  Thee  a  part, — 
Thou  art! 

58 


NOT  FOREVER  'MID  THE  ROSES 

Not  forever  'mid  the  roses 

Would  my  footsteps  linger,  stray; 

Would  feed  my  breath  'pon  perfumes  blowing, 
Steel  the  heart  to  warrior's  fray! 

Not  forever  'mid  the  roses, 

Not  forever  Joy's  Midway; 
Well  I  wot  that  hours  are  streamers 

Fluttering  bright  to  deck  Love's  day! 

Not  forever  'mid  the  roses 

Would  my  heart's  throb,  maddened,  stay! 
Not  forever  twilight's  blessing; 

Sounds  afar  the  trumpet's  bray! 

Not  forever  'mid  the  roses, 

Tho'  their  petals  were  Her  lips! 
Yield  I  to  ecstatic  kisses; 

All  my  soul  her  sweet  breath  sips. 

Well  I  wot  that  kisses  fleeting, 
Pressed  in  ecstasy  'pon  Her  brow. 

Lull  me  to  a  lotus  dreaming, — 
Limp,  my  manhood  struggles  now! 

Promise  me  elusive  heavens; 
Love,  O  Love!  why  did'st  deny 
59 


Fuller  bliss  thy  spent  soul 

Beating  tender  breast  'gainst  evening  sky  ? 

For  to-morrow  I  must  leave  thee, 
Mayhap  ne'er  may  call  thee  "wife," 

Nor  book,  nor  bell,  nor  priestly  blessing 
Can  restrain  a  soldier  from  war's  strife. 

The  lilies  in  the  garden  shiver, 

Sense  the  soul-pulse  in  the  air; 
Tho'  I  leave  thee  —  ever  with  thee, 

Tho'  I  could  ne'er  take  thee  there! 

Well  I  wot  that  kisses  sorrowful, 
Pressed  in  parting  'pon  thy  lips, 

Weaken  me  to  coward's  trembling, 
Drain  my  soul  of  strength  in  sips! 


Gone  the  Joys  of  twilight's  molten; 

Gone  the  flowers  'long  Love's  way: 
Gone  serenest  meetings  stolen  — 

Sunshine  beams'  irradiant  ray! 

Gone  the  sweetheart  I  had  chosen; 

Gone  my  wife  that  was  to  be; 
Long  I  linger  'neath  the  shadow; 

Beckoning  fingers  call  to  me! 

Not  forever  'mid  the  roses 

Would  my  saddened  footsteps  stray; 
60 


Not  forever,  with  the  twilight 

(1  ravine;  all  my  thoughts  of  thee! 

Not  forever  'mid  the  roses; 

Mocking  madness  is  their  In-rath: 
Not  forever  'mid  the  roses 

Which  hut  tell  of  thee  and  death! 


Once  again  amid  the  roses 

Roams  the  soldier,  pale  with  scars; 
lie  waits  to  feel  the  soul  of  twilight, 

Waits  alone  beneath  the  stars. 

Steals  a  shadow  'cross  his  pathway, — 
Evening  bells  are  tolling  fast, — 

Matching  his,  a  gliding  footstep, — 
Woman's  sweet,  now  sliding  past. 

Links  an  arm  within  the  warrior's; 

Soft  caresses  fan  his  breath: 
A  whisper,  faint  as  an  angel's  calling, 

Floating,  cries,  "  Love,  this  is  death!  " 


GENIUS 

Genius  is  a  Flame  that  wanders, 
Seeking,  seeking  souls  that  know; 
Testing  man  by  every  action, 
Searching  feeling  for  that  glow, 
Of  response  and  understanding;  doubt  that  gropes 
with  fingers  slow. 

Passing  o'er  the  mere  intellectual, 
Passing  o'er  the  aspirant,  sure 
Of  his  infallible  opinion, 
Writ  'pon  sands  'twill  not  endure! 
Seeking  now  a  youth  whose  dreamful  eyes  hold 
slumbers  sane  and  pure, 

Now  a  maid  whose  Castle  splendid, 
Builded  thoughts  and  glad  desires, 
Rears  to  cloudspheres  trem'lous  pillars, 
Jewelled  panes  and  crystal  spires ; 
Mind,  whose  bold  imagination  leaping,  bound 
ing,  never  tires. 

Planting  there  subtle  suggestion, 
Feathery,  ghostlike,  madly  spun 
By  the  soul  of  Her  —  The  Chosen  — 
Into  fires,  which,  rambling,  run  to  lithe  streams  of 
molten  silver,  riv'lling  splendor  of  the  sun. 
62 


Entering  now  her  Dreaming  Castle, 
Upon  earth  she  has  closed  the  door. 
Becomes  a  soul  that  gropes,  and  groping, 
Is  discontent  forever  more! 
Ton  flame-pinions  her  blithe  spirit 
Doomed  by  ecst'sies  e'er  to  soar. 

Within  her  envied  crystal  Palace, 
Whose  polished  roof  throws  off  the  rain, 
Each  nook  is  but  a  seething  furnace, 
Each  Hall  of  Grandeur  one  of  Pain : 

E'er  'fore  her  eyes  the  Flame  that  wanders, 
Rolling  waters,  following  fast, — 
Thundering  in  her  ears  a  message, — 
Tell  of  gates  of  ominous  past ; 
Revealing  to  her  hidden  pleasures  — 
From  blasting  cares  she's  free  at  last  — 
Grinding  from   her   heart  full   measure:  joyous 
sails  float  from  her  mast! 

Pressing  to  her  lips  sweet  blossoms, 
Woody-fragrant,  cuffed  with  blue, 
Bathing  lids  in  opal  vapors; 
Clouds  of  gold  she  passes  through; 
Singing  low  of  dear  caresses 
Which  come  to  The  Chosen  too ! 

Training  ear  to  seraph's  music  — 
Love  holds  forth  his  brimming  cup  — 
Angel's  fingers  pick  the  harp-strings 

09 


Of  her  mind,  as  Soul  soars  up 

To  what  seem  the  Gates  of  Heaven ; 

'Pon  rare  visions  doth  she  sup! 

Wavers  now  the  lum'nous  curtain, 
Cupid  laughs  on  poised  wings; 
Cloud-Ships  pass  'neath  waves  of  thunder, 
Lurid  —  fearful  are  all  things; 
The  Chosen,  sent  by  light'ning's  darting 
Into  chaos  —  a  soul  of  stings ! 

Claps  that  split  the  dome  of  heaven, 
Lights  and  sounds  the  craven  to  scare, 
Precede  the  parting  of  the  curtain,— 
Hunger  gaunt  —  white  misery  there ! 
Child  of  Earth,  who  moves  'mong  shadows, 
Stoops  and  stutters  —  grief  laid  bare ! 

Wan  with  horror  lies  The  Chosen, 

A  crater  burnt  her  sad -seared  soul, 

Earth  and  Hell  and   Heav'n  all  melted  into  bell 

with  ceaseless  toll. 
Happiness  turned  into  vulture, 
Claws  that  scratch  and  rend  and  drip 
Those  passionate  drops  of  blood  made  heavy 
By  lack  of  joys  she  cannot  sip! 

Eye-balls  strained  to  catch  the  message 
Her  tortured  being  yet  would  claim  ,— 
Through  the  charr'd  and  riven  craicr 
Leaps  the  dim,  relentless  Flame! 
64 


Genius,  laughing  like  a  satyr, 
Calling  self  by  other  name! 

Burn  the  tongues  of  Fires  made  glorious, 

By  her  sacrificial  strain: 

All  her  thoughts  a  struggling  fountain, 

All  her  hopes  a  linked  chain  - 

Thing  of  flames  and  gems  and  jewels 

Bosomed  deep  with  infinite  pain! 

Beauty,  sad-eyed,  vision-haunted, 
Dedicated  to  Higher  Cause, 
K'on  to  comp'ny  with  those  shadows, 
Shapes  of  Death  with  human  claws  — 
Phantoms  drear  whose  flying  fingers 
Speel  the  darkness  without  pause. 

Hateful  are  those  spires  of  silver. 
Piercing  luminous  sapphire  skies; 
Licked  with  gore  those  polished  temples, 
Free  her  soul  of  mad  desires; 
Valueless  the  tardy  conquest 
Of  love,  searched-for,  elusive,  bought 
Wi  I  h  Youth  whose  trusting  foot-stool  kneels  to  man , 
her  battle  fought. 

(ienius  is  a  Flame  that  wanders, 
Seeking,  seeking  souls  that  know ; 
Testing  man  by  every  action, 
Searching,  feeling  for  that  glow 
Of  response  and  understanding, 
Doubt  that  gropes,  now   nevermore! 

05 


LAUGHING  EYES 

To  Mary  Louise 

Laughing  Eyes  so  tender, 

Laughing  Eyes  so  true, 
Tears  blot  out  the  sunshine 

Which  gleams  from  eyes  of  blue. 

Brimming  wells  of  laughter, 
Bubbles  bright  with  fun; 

Father's  only  daughter,- — 
His  troubles  have  begun! 

He  cannot  rule  with  kindness; 

He  will  not  rule  with  force; 
Laughing  eyes  of  mischief 

Must  have  their  way,  of  course. 

Peeping  into  pockets; 

Stealing  kisses  too; 
Teasing,  tickling,  twinkling 

With  fun  she  sways  o'er  you. 

Laughing  Eyes  so  tender, 

Laughing  Eyes  so  true; 
Father's  dearest  treasure 

From  crown  to  dainty  shoe! 
66 


MAHALA  (THE  WEEPER) 

Mahala,  the  weeper,  weeping  for  her  dead! 
Mahala,  the  weeper,  weeping  that  life's  fled! 
Draw  from  her  brow  the  curtain  of  her  fears, 
Catch  from  her  eyes  the  treasure  of  her  tears! 

Struggling  to  the  top  of  the  mountain  bare 
Stooping,  her  dead  to  bury  there; 
Mahala,  still  weeping  through  the  days, — 
Her  tears  form  lakes  and  waterways. 

A  form  colossal  there  she  stands, 
Peering  o'er  the  desert  lands; 
Far-searching  in  the  clouds  relief 
For  the  burden  of  her  grief. 

The  weeper  chants  amid  her  tears, 
Through  endless  ages,  weary  years. 
A  valley  fair  blooms  in  her  sight; 
She  sees  naught  but  the  gloom  of  night. 

Her  tears  have  caused  the  flowers  to  spring 
From  her  dead  lover's  slumbering. 
But  Mahala,  weeping  'gainst  the  sky, 
Ne'er  stoops  to  see  them  trooping  by. 


147 


To  whom  was  meted  death  appalling; 

Whom  the  angry  cinnamon  bear, 
At  the  edge  of  forest  calling 

Desiring  but  to  rend  and  tear, 

Sighted  with  two  beauteous  baskets, — 

Equal  do  the  patterns  run, — 
Devoured  with  hunger,  leaping  passion, 

Maid  and  basket,  sparing  one. 

Fraught  with  fears,  the  simple  story; 

Weaves  the  maid  her  heart's  desires; 
Yet  who  duplicates  a  pattern  «.     '* 

Prepares  her  death  and,  swift,  expires. 


When  the  tottering  Great  Bull  Chieftain, — 
Borne  by  faithful  daughters  dear 

To  the  square  where  cruel  strangers, — 

Meeting  death  with  with  dearth  of  tear, — 

Mocked  the  Indian,  twain ed  his  power, 
Robbed  him  of  his  lands  and  streams, — 

Heard  the  sentence,  eyes  to  heaven  — 
Where  Eternal  Justice  seems  — 

He  sadly,  tearfully,  'preached  the  stranger, 
Who  heard  with  looks  that  shamed  his  .birth : 

"  Whither  send'st  me  now,  O  stranger! 
Age  has  fallen  upon  my  earth. 

"  Closed  my  sight  to  new  adventures, 
Stringed  my  bow  with  arrows  soft; 

150 


'Sire  I  now  but  dreaming  reverie, 
Peaceful  passage  —  mine  eyes  aloft ! 

Ton  wings  spread  like  paddles,  dipping 
Ton  the  quiet  river's  breast! 

'Sire  I  but  the  bird  notes  rippling 

Gloomy  thoughts  must  find  their  rest  I 

"  Love  I  kingdom  of  my  fathers, 
Mine  before  thy  pale  white  face, 

Swept  by  great  white  canoe's  gliding, 
Came  as  star  to  blind  my  race! 

"  I  gave  thee  shelter,  gave  thee  welcome, 
Gave  thee  of  our  forest's  best; 

Lulled  thy  fears  to  peaceful  slumbers ; 
Gave  thee  arrows  like  the  rest! 

"  Gave  thee  of  the  rattler's  poison; 

Stringed  thy  bow,  thy  courage  tipped; 
Guided  thee  through  the  darkened  forest, 

To  where  the  river,  broken -lipped. 

Poured  forth  frothing,  foaming  waters : 
Guided  well  thy  canoe's  flight : 

Skim'd  the  current,  specter-haunted  — 
Paddles  dipping  swift  and  light. 

'  Now  you  come  to  me  with  message 
From  an  unknown  white  chief  dread; 

Hob  me  of  my  ancestral  kingdom; 
For  my  kindness  strike  me  dead!  " 


To  whom  was  meted  death  appalling; 

Whom  the  angry  cinnamon  bear, 
At  the  edge  of  forest  calling 

Desiring  but  to  rend  and  tear, 

Sighted  with  two  beauteous  baskets, — 

Equal  do  the  patterns  run, — 
Devoured  with  hunger,  leaping  passion, 

Maid  and  basket,  sparing  one. 

Fraught  with  fears,  the  simple  story; 

Weaves  the  maid  her  heart's  desires; 
Yet  who  duplicates  a  pattern  «.    ••"* 

Prepares  her  death  and,  swift,  expires. 


When  the  tottering  Great  Bull  Chieftain, — 
Borne  by  faithful  daughters  dear 

To  the  square  where  cruel  strangers, — 

Meeting  death  with  with  dearth  of  tear, — 

Mocked  the  Indian,  twain ed  his  power, 
Robbed  him  of  his  lands  and  streams, — 

Heard  the  sentence,  eyes  to  heaven  — 
Where  Eternal  Justice  seems  — 

He  sadly,  tearfully,  'proached  the  stranger, 
Who  heard  with  looks  that  shamed  his 

"  Wliither  send'st  me  now,  O  stranger! 
Age  has  fallen  upon  my  earth. 

"  Closed  my  sight  to  new  adventures, 
Stringed  my  bow  with  arrows  soft; 
150 


'Sire  I  now  but  dreaming  reverie, 
Peaceful  passage  —  mine  eyes  aloft ! 

Ton  wings  spread  like  paddles,  dipping 
'Pon  the  quiet  river's  breast! 

'Sire  I  but  the  bird  notes  rippling 

Gloomy  thoughts  must  find  their  rest' 

"  Love  I  kingdom  of  my  fathers, 
Mine  before  thy  pale  white  face, 

Swept  by  great  white  canoe's  gliding. 
Came  as  star  to  blind  my  race! 

"  I  gave  thee  shelter,  gave  thee  welcome, 
Gave  thee  of  our  forest's  best ; 

Lulled  thy  fears  to  peaceful  slumbers ; 
Gave  thee  arrows  like  the  rest! 

"  Gave  thee  of  the  rattler's  poison; 

Stringed  thy  bow,  thy  courage  tipped ; 
Guided  thee  through  the  darkened  forest, 

To  where  the  river,  broken -lipped. 

Poured  forth  frothing,  foaming  waters : 
Guided  well  thy  canoe's  flight : 

Skim'd  the  current,  specter-haunted  -- 
Paddles  dipping  swift  and  light. 

'  Now  you  come  to  me  with  message 
From  an  unknown  white  chief  dread; 

Uob  me  of  my  ancestral  kingdom; 
For  my  kindness  strike  me  dead!  " 
151 


Buried  they  the  broken  chieftain 
Beside  ocean's  shifting  sands, — 

Gold  shores  lapped  by  kissing  wavelets, 
Searching  far  for  maidens'  hands! 

Gulls  awing  cry  out  a  warning, 
Circling  high  above  the  place 

Waves  croon  to  the  peerless  chieftain, 
Pattern  for  the  pale-faced  race! 

To  the  limited  Reservation 

Hie  the  sorrowful  Indian  braves  — 

Squaws,  papooses,  weeping  daughters, 
Parted  from  their  ancestral  graves! 

Never  more,  'pon  winged  snowshoes, 
Theirs  the  forest,  free  to  roam; 

Ever  this  sad  reservation, 

Bound  by  laws,  must  be  their  home! 

E'en  their  tuneful  nomenclature, — 
Words  that  spell  the  river's  sigh, 

Song,  cloud-birds,  flight  of  swallow, 
Soughing  winds,  snows  swirling  by  — 

Changed  to  Christian  names  unmus'cal 

Spelling  nothing  under  sun! 
Descending  like  the  hand  of  winter 

E'er  the  autumn's  well  begun! 

Given  their  choice,  the  sacred  "  Mary," 
Watered  by  dim  centuries'  tears, 
152 


Wooed  the  ear  like  waters  dropping, 
'Suaged  the  morning  of  their  fears! 

'Tis  no  romance  to  embroider 

Tale  remote  in  fancy's  frame, 
That  some  hundred  savage  maidens 

Chose  the  Blessed  Mother's  name! 

Throughout  all  the  sad,  sad  acres 
Set  aside  for  the  Indian's  home; 

Laughing  Mary,  wooing  pleasure 
Blossom-twined  'dored  to  roam. 

Seeking  far  the  white  clematis  — 
Tangled  stars  in  heaven's  green, — 

("ailing  to  the  Shasta  lilies  — 

Mountains  heaving  sighs  between! 

Laughing  Mary,  wooed  of  lovers, 
Tho'  twas  e'er  her  right  to  woo  — 

Through  custom  handed  down  the  ages, 
Though  sacred,  condemned  by  lovers  two, 

Longing  each  to  hear  the  footfall 

Of  Laughing  Mary,  long  their  choice, 

With  the  sounds  of  night  atremble, 

Throbbing  through  her  pleading  voice. 

Face  veiled  by  a  web  of  darkness 
Formed  by  meshes  of  her  hair; 

Singing  of  her  many  virtues 

Through  the  hours  lingering  there 
153 


Till  the  night  owl  strikes  accomp'ment, 
Cricket  reads  his  twilight  book; 

And  the  forest  wakes  and  shivers; 
Flowers  crane  their  necks  to  look. 

To  be  ta'en  by  watching  lover 
Into  his  house,  his  fire  to  tend,-— 

To  bear  his  children,  speed  his  hunting, 
Patiently  his  feast-robes  blend, 


Voices  break  the  frosted  stillness, 
Vaulting,  leaping,  sliding  down, 

Mary  listens,  panting,  sighing, 

With  smiles  tear-shaken,  lacey  frown. 

"  Laughing  Mary 
Silver  laughter; 
Flying  Feet 
Where  grasses  meet! 
She  cannot  say 
O  happy  day! 

For  the  hour  is  sad, —  ah,  me!  ah,  me! 

She  cannot  choose  'tween  warrior  soul: 
She  cannot  woo  as  maids  can  see; 

She  knows  not  what  the  days  may  toll ! 

"  There's  gay  Tail  Feather  light  of  mood 
A  gambler  born  a  ne'er-do-well; 

Tho'  rated  low  in  nation's  coin, — 
A  maiden's  fancy  who  can  tell  ?  " 
154 


Rushes  eager  by  the  lake, 

The  thirsty  deer  his  thirst  doth  slake, 
Rabbit,  squirrel,  frisky  tail, 

The  Indian  maid  swings  down  the  trail. 

Joins  her  in  the  twilight  cold, 

Swiftly  running,  Eagle  Bold; 
Wooes  the  girl  by  star-lit  rill  - 

Waters  icy  from  the  hill. 

"  O  fairest  maid, 

Maid  of  Laughing! 

Beware  of  treach'rous  Feather  Tail! 

He's  made  vile  vow 

That  you  he'll  woo; 

His  squaw  he'll  take  far  up  the  trail! 

"  Of  alien  race 

He'll  not  be  kind! 

Your  flower-spirit  thongs  will  bind, 

O  maid  of  laughing,  listen  well 

To  the  swift  tale  that  I  shall  tell! 

"  Mayhap  in  thy  sweet  young  childhood 

Tendered  I  my  boyish  suit; 
For  thee  pulled  forbidden  blossoms, 

Robbed  the  stirring,  struggling  fruit! 

"  Wasted  gifts  of  the  Great  Spirit 
For  thy  tender,  sweet  caprice; 

On  thy  trickling  laughter  hanging, 
'Comp'n'ing  thee  to  sacred  feast. 

1.55 


"  Culled  for  thee  the  twining  flower, 
Stars  to  braid  with  thy  dark  hair, — 

Later  found  thee  Shasta  daisies: 
Brought  thee  lilies,  pure  and  fair. 

"  Hard  the  way  and  long  the  journey 
To  snow-hooded  Shasta's  side. 

Yet  from  there  I've  brought  thee  lilies  — 
Whitest  lilies  for  my  bride!  " 

Then  the  laughing  Mary  falters, 
Gazing  first  at  the  speeling  skies; 

Wooing  with  soft  eyes  the  forest, 

Winged  with  rustling,  indrawn  sighs: 

Listening  to  soft  chanting  waters, 
Rustling  rushes  seared  and  pale; 

Far  off  roar  of  great- waved  ocean, 
Foll'wing  footprints  of  the  gale. 

Back  to  stalwart  Eagle  Feather, 
Bronze  of  face  and  bronze  of  limb, 

Polished  like  a  brazen  armor;  — 
Shining  eyes,  like  lamps,  are  dim. 

"  Son  of  Bull,  O!  great  Gray  Eagle! 

Strong  art  thou,  surpassing  fair! 
Honored  am  I  among  maidens!  " 

Here  she  loosed  her  braids  of  hair. 

O'er  her  face  a  dark,  sweet  curtain, 
Veiled  mysteries  in  her  eyes, 
156 


Bending  'fore  him,  humble,  tearful, 
While  his  are  two  pray 'rf ul  fires! 

Voices  break  the  glowing  stillness; 
Leaping,  laughing,  sliding  down. 

Laughing  Mary! 
Silver  Laughter! 
Flying  Feet! 
Where  waters  meet!  " 

Now  speeds  her  cry:   "  Oh,  blest  am  I! 

The  day  is  glad  you  see,  you  see! 
Choose  I  Eagle  Feather  Bold. 

He  chooses  me,  oh,  tree,  oh,  tree! 
He  chooses  me:   oh,  flower!   oh,  flower! 
He  chooses  me,  oh,  silvery  hour!  " 

Tail  Feather  gay  appeared  that  day, 
And  with  the  rest,  was  at  his  best! 

But  in  his  heart,  a  planted  dart! 

And  'neath  his  eyelids  embers  smart! 
He's  vowed  revenge  'pon  Eagle  Bold' 

To  be  'complished  e'er  the  moon  is  old! 

In  a  cabin  dark, 

Lit  by  the  spark 

Of  candles  blear, 

The  stakes  appear! 

The  rounded  sticks, — 

There  are  but  six, — 

Kept  by  exultant  Feather  Tail! 

157 


E'er  midnight's  toll 
The  game  is  old; 
Bold  Eagle's  bride 
111  doth  betide! 

The  candle  sputters  in  the  gale. 
Bold  Eagle  survives  to  tell  the  talc! 
O  Great  Spirit,  take,  take  to  thee 
Laughing  Mary,  e'er  the  day 
Forks  in  splendor  o'er  the  sea! 
O  darkness,  stay,  O  darkness,  stay! 

Laughing  Mary  gambled  away 
By  Eagle  Bold,  e'en  her  dear  chief; 

Giv'n  to  treacherous  Feather  Tail; 
In  faith,  in  faith,  'tis  'vond  belief! 

The  Indian  bride, 

Of  laughing  breath, 
Swift  must  decide, — 

'Tis  life  or  death! 

The  jewelled  flames 

Her  slender  feet, 

Bereft  of  beaded  moccasin,  greet. 

The  smouldering  coals! 

Ah!  great  the  pain! 

Her  song  is  vain ! 

Vain  agony,  tho'  her  nerve  is  grim, 
Endured  that  she  may  remain  with  him,- 
Her  chief  so  dear, 

158 


Who'll  soon  appear 

With  Feather  Tail! 

Then  to  the  trail 

No  power  can  her  torture  dim! 

Conies  Feather  Tail  with  Eagle  Bold, 
The  stake  all  lost,  fair  Mary  sold; 
She  shows  her  heel  —  with  laughing  face  - 
Endurance  is  the  test  of  race. 

The  bone  all  charred;   her  death-song  sure: 
Her  face  is  soft,  her  soul  is  pure; 
She's  lost  to  both  —  the  stake  was  life ! 
Her  life  she  gives  —  now  ends  all  strife     | 

'Tween  Feather  Tail  and  Eagle  Bold! 
Old  the  story  —  the  legend  told ; 
Laughing  Mary  wakes  in  spring 
To  ride  the  tides  that  rivers  bring. 


159 


DIALECT  SONGS 
AND  LIGHT  VERSE 


MY  WIFE 

A  song  whose  linked  sounds 

Fall  sweetly  on  the  ear; 

A  dream-fancy  made  real, — 

Her  heartbeat  ever  near, — 

The  wife  of  my  ideal, 

A  breath  perfumed,  a  soul  illumed, 

Such  is  my  wife,  dearest  my  wife! 

A  bark,  seaworthy,  strong; 

Frail  in  her  strength,  alarms, 

When  seas  are  fair,  serene; 

More  fearful  in  her  calms 

Than  storm-clouds'  reckless  strife.- 

A  craft  seaworthy,  strong  — 

Such  is  my  wife,  dearest  my  wife! 

A  pray'r  from  God  she's  sent, 
A  breath  —  a  zephyr  blown 
From  skies.     No  fairer  beams 
Than  from  her  sweet  eyes  shone 
When  Love  sent  trusting  gleams 
From  her  heart  to  mine  own  — 
Dearest  my  wife,  dearest  my  wife! 


THE  DIFFERENCE 

The  sea  leaps  toward  the  mountain, 
The  mountain  bends  toward  the  sea; 

There's  a  song  upon  the  mountain 
And  a  song  upon  the  sea. 

83 


There's  green  upon  the  mountain, 

A  deeper  green  in  the  sea; 
A  blush  as  one  towers  rosily 

The  bride  of  the  clouds  to  be. 

The  great  sea  tosses  angrily 
At  the  fair  mountain's  choice; 

He  sheds  his  radiance  royally 

Then  shrieks  in  thunderous  voice: 

"  O,  mountain  green,  O,  mountain  fair, 

Why  soar  you  far  above  me? 
Who  so  splendid,  who  so  grand, 

As  thy  lordly  lover,  the  sea?  " 

"  Oh,  royal  power,  restless  soul, 

You've  worn  my  love  away! 
Your  angry  moods,  your  creeping  waves 

Ne'er  can  my  spirit  sway. 

The  clouds  they  wrapt  me  closely  'round, 

Just  held  me  tenderly; 
A  kiss  they  planted  on  my  brow, 

Thus  wooed  me  splendidly. 

My  happy  head  rests  'mong  the  spheres, 

The  mists  so  sweet  and  rare. 
I'd  quite  forgotten  you,  O  sea! 

'Til  I  heard  you  scolding  there." 


84 


WAITING  FOR  ME 

Waiting  for  me  at  the  sunset, 
Waiting  at  the  pale,  white  dawn; 

Waiting  for  me  in  the  firelight 
And  the  red  glow  of  the  morn. 

Waiting  for  me,  waiting  bravely, 

Woman-sweet  she's  standing  there. 

Waiting  for  me  tender,  faithful, 
Night  by  night  and  day  by  day, 

While  the  roseate  flames  leap  skyward 
And  the  shades  of  night  away. 

Waiting  for  me  —  waiting  —  waiting  — 

Watching  in  the  early  morn. 

No  more  waiting,  no  more  longing; 

Soon  I'll  have  thy  hands  in  mine, 
No  more  watching,  no  more  sighing, 

Soon  my  lips  will  wed  with  thine- 
Waiting  for  me  —  waiting  —  waiting  — 
Waiting  for  me  —  for  me  there. 

Waiting,  watching  by  the  fireside, 
Oh!   the  dream-touch  of  thy  hand! 

At  the  door  thou'lt  still  be  waiting 
For  me  in  a  foreign  land. 

Waiting  for  me,  waiting  bravely, 

Woman-sweet  she's  standing  there. 


THE  SURF 

Thunder,  thunder,  clap  on  clap, 
Booming  tides  and  sullen  rap; 
Tossing  spray  on  you  and  me, — 
Rocks  go  crag-like  toward  the  sea. 

From  our  seat  so  high,  so  high, 
We  watch  the  dancing  waves  go  by; 
Madly  racing,  vaulting;  then 
Ebbing,  restless,  back  again. 

It  seems  I  see  thy  soul  and  mine 

In  surging  waters,  leaping  spray; 

The  mad  waves  beat  my  heart  'gainst  thine, 

Thy  love  a  rainbow  for  our  day, 

The  small  sharp  rocks  which  cut  our  feet, 
Life's  daily  trials  we  may  meet; 
The  strong,  stout  cliffs  against  the  sky 
The  mounts  we  climb,  just  you  and  I. 

The  sprays  which  leap  so  merrily. 
The  hopes  our  youthful  spirits  soar, 
The  winds  whistling  so  cheerily, 
A  song  which  rises  'bove  the  roar. 

The  crawling  waves  e'er  ebbing  back, 
Our  fond  young  hopes  held  in  the  rack, 
Carrying  us  onward  toward  the  sea  — 
Your  hand  fi  mine,  my  soul  in  thee. 

80 


AT  THE  OLD  TRYSTING  PLACE 


O  maid,  so  dear  remembered, 

O  days,  that  were  —  are  not; 
At  the  old  trysting  place,  dear, 

The  sweet,  the  hallowed  spot. 

'Twas  there  thy  hands  clasped  mine,  love; 

Twas  there  thy  lips  met  mine, 
'Twas  there  thy  soul  held  up  the  veil, 

That  hid  my  heart  from  thine. 


O  love,  that  would  away, 

O  faith,  that  went  astray, 

Could9 st  thou  not  spare  an  Jwur  of  grace. 

For  the  old  trysting  place? 

And  there  the  past  forgetting, 
Memory  will  claim  her  own, 

And  Love  will  blot  out  all  the  stains 
The  soulless  years  have  borne. 


The  sorrowing  tears  be  wiped  away, 

The  sorrow  all  forgot; 
At  the  old  trysting  place,  dear, 

The  holy,  hallowed  spot. 


87 


THE  SUNSET  HOUR 

'Twas  sunset  hour  when  I  told  my  love 
The  golden,  fleeting  hour  — 

Oh,  where  is  she,  the  fairy  sprite, 
Whilst  day  declares  her  power! 

Each  glorious  ray  of  radiant  hue 

Straying  from  above, 
Caught  in  her  hair  with  golden  gleams 

As  I  told  her  of  my  love. 

A  cloudlet  glowing  like  the  rose, 
Each  curling  flame  a  flower  — 

Beckoned  to  her  from  on  high, 
I  feared  the  sunset's  power. 

Did  spirit  from  the  unseen  shore, 
E'en  as  her  heart  held  mine, 

Declare  she  was  too  pure  for  earth, 
Fit  but  in  heav'n  to  shine? 

My  love  passed  by,  a  fading  dream, 

Her  face  to  me  she  turns; 
Her  beckoning  fingers  urge  me  on  — 

To  dim,  unknown  bournes. 

The  sunset  hour,  the  sunset  hour, 

'Neath  thy  enchanted  spell, 
A  maiden's  spirit  buds  and  flowers, — 

A  man's  —  ah  —  who  can  tell  ? 

I  sit  alone,  the  night  is  spent, 

Long  past  the  sunset  hour. 
The  Darkness  holds  me  in  her  grasp, 

Far  from  the  maiden's  bow'r. 

88 


Pa  says  I'm  mighty  poverty 

An'  ma's  ashamed  o'  me; 
With  patches  in  my  breeches 

An'  holes  all  in  my  knee. 

I  ain'  had  much  o'  schoolin' 
But  I  might  'ave  'ad  mo*  less, 

Tf  Teacher  had  'n'  minter 
Go  way  to  'is  las'  res'. 

Since  then  no  one's  a  carin' 
Jes  how  I  spen's  my  time; 

An'  pa,  'e  wuz  that  tickled 

Wen  I  made  that  'ere  stray  dime. 

'E  sez  I'm  most  ez  handy 

Ez  a  dudish  financier, 
Tho'  grow'd  up  'mong  cabbages 

With  nary  a  rockin'-cheer 

T*  keep  me  kinder  goody; 

All  dreamy  fru  the  day; 
A  thinking  o'  steam  iujines 

A  puffin'  long  they  way. 

I  reckon  I'll  be  makin' 
A  tunnel  fru  that  rock  — 

What's  reely  a  mounting  — 
Fur  the  feedin'  o'  our  flock. 

80 


That  creek  you  sees  a  lazin', 

Along  side  o'  that  tree, 
Is  cummin'  like  a  turrent 

To  roll  its  tongue  at  me. 

But  I'm  fur  from  keerin' 
'Cause  I  rides  in  the  skies: 

Them  clouds  you  sees  a  floatin' 
Jes'  laugh  ontel  they  cries 

Ter  see  me  on  er  eagle 

All  bridled  with  gold  chains; 

A  tellin'  them  my  secrit  — 
That  it's  most  time  fur  rain. 

An'  w'en  I  sees  the  ocean 

All  dimply  in  the  sun, 
I  sez  ter  my  ole  pardner: 

"  Jes'  wish  I  wuz  er  gun! 

I'd  shoot  er  mighty  bullet 
Right  pop!  into  them  wave 

Ter  mek  a  dandy  cyclum 
An'  ter  see  ole  ocean  shave. 

Fur  it's  a  purty  larther, 
All  soapy,  w'ite  and  thick, 

Wile  'is  beard  comes  off  all  shiny 
You  kin  re'ch  it  with  er  stick. 

An  then  I'd  build  a  fiah 
Ter  burn  up  all  the  wurl 
00 


'Cept  Pa  and  Ma  an'  all  o'  them 
What's  good  ter  Danny  Girl. 

'Cause  that's  whut  they  all  calls  me 
O'  count  o'  dreams  an'  things, 

An'  'cause  I'm  scairt  o'  harnits 
With  they  narsty  little  stings. 


MARGY 

Don't  cry,  Margy,  thy  tears  are  too  dear, 

Draw  thy  bright  head  to  thy  mother's  breast  near, 

The  stars  are  peeping  at  thee  with  bright  twinkling 

eyes; 
The  big  lady-moon  faints  pale  with  surprise. 

If  Dolly's  lost  her  teeth  and  wee  Willie  his  hair 
We'll  take  both  to  the  doctor,  so,  my  baby,  there! 
No  use  of  crying  thy  pretty  eyes  out. 
Dear  little  Margy,  what  art  thou  about  ? 

A  big  glist'ning  tear  from  thy  sleepy  lids  falls, — 
Why  I  do  not  believe  thou  'rt  my  baby  at  all ! 
Thou'rt  God's  little  maid,  thy  dreams  heaven  sent, 
Though  thy  curly  gold  head  o'er  my  shoulder  lies 
bent. 

Mother  knows  the  whole  day  has  been  very  sad : — 
That  shows  how  we  feel  when  our  babies  are  bad. 
But  'twill  all  be  forgot  with  the  dawn  of  the  day 
When  we  two  busy  mothers  kiss  our  troubles  away. 

01 


THE  LITTLE    BLACK    GIRL    AND    THE 
HEATHEN  CHINEE 

Sukey's  face  was  chocolate  brown 
Sukey's  hair  was  kinky; 
Sukey  went  around  the  town 
Abummin'  with  a  Chinky. 

"  Oh,"  she  cried,  "  oh,"  she  sighed, 
"Quit  dat-a  lookin'  at  me. 
Don't  yeh  go  be  supprised, — 
I's  happy  ez  I  kin  be." 

Chinky's  cheeks  were  saffron-hued, 
Chinky's  eyes  shut  sleep'ly: 
Chinky  smoked  a  yellow  weed, 
And  then  he  sighed  most  deep'ly: 

"  O  litte  black  girlie,"  he  wildly  cried, 
"My  heart  hurts  sofo'  loo  my  blide; 
What,  oh,  how  loo  have  me  do, 
To  ivin  my  love,  my  Sukey  Sue?  " 

"  Yo'  trailin'  pig-tail  f,rs'  must  go, 
It  makes  de  niggahs  tease  me  so; 
Yo'  almond  eyes  be  clipped  inside. 
Fo'  Sukey  Sue  kin  be  yo'  bride." 

Little  Sing  Loo  gave  painful  start, 
O'er  cruel  Sukey's  faithless  heart: 

92 


"Loo  no  lova  me,  just  Heathen  Chinee. 
Niggah  girlie  nurer  blide  can  be. 

"  My  pig-tail,  dear  to  Chinee  heart, 
My  fader  no  likee  have  me  part. 
Sing  Loo  go  far  and  far  away, 
Little  black  girlie  no  want  me  stay." 

Sukey  Sue  a  strange  cry  gave 
To  think  that  Loo,  her  patient  slave, 
Dared  thwart  her,  chide  her,  wound  her  so, — 
O'er  far-off  seas  he  planned  to  go. 

Her  bosom  heaved,  her  eyes  flashed  fire, 
She  tried  to  squelch  him  with  her  ire; 
But  the  "  Chinee  "  boy  stood  there  so  calm, 
Sukey's  heart  gave  to  fresh  alarm : 

"Oh,  my  little  Sing  Loo,  Loo,  Loo! 
Fo'give,  fo'give  yo'  Sukey  Sue! 
Yeh  be  a  Heathen  Chinee  boy, 
Dat  gibs  my  heart  its  deepest  joy." 

Sing  Loo  felt  strangely  mollified, 
While  Sukey's  kiss  her  love  becried; 
"  Oh  litte  tiger-lily  girl! 
Lo'  eyes  are  stars,  lo*  lips  are  pearls." 


es 


AS  I  SITS  ALL  LONELY 

As  I  sits  all  lonely, 

Aplayin'  wiv  my  toys, 
I'm  just  plain  awishin' 

That  I  was  wiv  those  boys! 

And  as  I  spanks  my  Dolly, 
Who's  cross  as  cross  can  be, 

I'm  just  in  my  min'  beginnin' 
To  climb  that  apple  tree. 

An'  John  he  stan's  beneaf  me, 

Any  in'  of  his  kite; 
Awhistlin'  mighty  solemn, 

While  Jim  says  I'm  a  "  mite." 

An'  jus'  who's  been  alookin' 
As  I  skins  that  apple  tree 

I'm  sure  I'm  not  acarin' 
Jus'  so  it's  only  me. 

Mother  says  it's  mos'  improper, 

Unladylike  —  oh,  my ! 
An'  like  as  not,  not  knowin' 

I  does  it  on  the  sly. 

An'  there's  baits  and  fishin' 
Enough  to  make  you  run 

To  the  ole  branch  hole,  wishin' 
You'd  never  seen  the  sun. 
94 


For  hot  it  is  an'  sweaty: 

Your  bonnet's  down  your  back 

'Cause  boys  all  go  bare-headed. 
Aunt  says:  "  They  have  a  knack— 

"  Of  losin'  all  their  senses 
When  summer  swings  along, 

x\runnin'  wild,  like  horses, 
From  dews  to  supper's  gong." 

Lord!    I  hope  I  ain't  a  sinnin' 

Just  'cause  I  am  a  girl 
An'  got  a  good  complexion 

An'  hair  all  shiny  curl. 

But  if  you  knew  my  feelin's, — 
How  they  just  churn  inside, — 

You'd  feel  real  mean  in  Heaven 
Wiv  Jesus  by  your  side. 

I  guess  He  liked  girl  children 

'Cause  He  knew  they  had  no  chance 

To  have  a  single  pleasure  - 
Unless  they  sing  and  dance. 

As  I  sits  all  lonely, 

Aplayin'  wiv  my  toys, 
I'm  jus'  plain  awishin' 

That  I  was  wiv  those  bovs! 


COTTON  BOLLS  'GAINST  BULLETS 

Thar's  snowdrifts  in  the  cotton  fields, 

Thar's  hummin'  in  the  air, 
Thar's  tune  of  birds  in  hedges, 

Thar's  summer  everywhere. 

Thar's  piccaninnies  rawmpin', 
Thar's  gals  out  with  thar  beaux 

An'  thar's  my  old  Maria, 
A  saint  —  as  Heaven  knows. 

The  sunshine's  like  a  kerchief, 
A  windin'  'round  her  head  — 

She's  thinkin'  of  them  battles 
Whar  she  and  I  have  bled  - 

For  tho'  I  did  the  shootin', 

And  followed  far  the  drum 
That  rattled  up  our  spirits  — 

The  fighting  had  to  come! — 

And  though  I  kilt  a  Major, — 
A  Yankee,  'course,  you  know ! — 

'Twas  'Ria  done  good  fighting 
Just  'yond  that  longest  row. 

'Twas  cotton  bolls  'gainst  bullets, 

Wife's  tongue  the  only  gun 
On  the  side  of  dear  old  Dixie ;  — 

You  should  have  seen  them  run. 

96 


They  capered  through  the  cotton, 

Alookin'  at  the  corn; 
Then  wife  took  my  old  pistol, 

She  did  —  sho  as  you're  born. 

An'  with  one  round  of  powder  - 
Sent  them  a  scuttlin'  way; 

Tho'  'twa'n't  in  Yankee  feelin's 
To  show  no  mind  to  stay. 

They  turned  to  take  thar  bearin's 
Beyond  that  knoll  of  pines 

And  seein'  one  lone  woman  — 
Seemed  to  've  changed  thar  min's. 

For  they  went  like  stars  aflockin' 
To  meet  the  risin  morn  — 

And  the  cotton  fleeces  whitened 
And  gold  was  in  the  thorn. 

But  when  they  came  to  turnin ' 
Thar  was  the  buryin*  groun'. 

And  thar  wan't  a  single  Yankee 
But  started  kneelin'  down. 

For  thar  were  our  six  children, 

Alyin'inarow; 
While  'Ria,  single  handed, 

Stood  'hind  the  smoke  house  do'. 

She  'lows  they  would  have  ventured 
Smoke  house  was  brimmin'  high 

97 


With  hawgs  all  nicely  quartered 
Or  hung  up  by  a  thigh, — 

But  fur  them  six  little  helpers, 
Now  soldiers  of  the  cross, 

An'  somehow  'Ria's  feelin' 
They  ain't  eggsactly  los ! 


AMERICA 

A  Titan  great,  a  Titan  tall, — 

Clasping  hands  with  different  seas ; 

Stretching  from  dark  pole  to  pole ; 
Despising  both  the  mean  and  small ! 

Embracing  in  his  arms  —  the  world ! 

His  the  might  by  victory  hurled ! 
Refusing  none  his  shelt'ring  care, 

Welcoming  the  lowly  everywhere. 

To  his  cities  great,  o'er  mountains  rare, 

A  motley  horde  of  aliens  stream; 
O'er  trackless  plain  and  desert  bare, 

Their  pushing  crowds,  weave  wavering  seam. 

Bringing  traditions  old  and  worn; 

A  tattered  flag  in  their  hearts  is  borne; 
Foreigners  still  in  thought,  in  mind ; 

Tho'  o'er  their  heads  our  banners  wind ! 
98 


Here  Anarchy  stalks  —  lurid,  red; 

A  dagger  'neath  his  shirt  is  hid ; 
With  wasted  fingers,  — alluring  band, — 

Socialism  lifts  a  trembling  hand. 

Weirdly  the  processions  wind, — 

Whilst    Sympathy    shouts,  "  The    Race    is 

blind!" 
Sinuous  as  a  serpent's  trail, 

While  politicians  'gainst  politician  rail; 
While  money  fights  ungodly  fight ; 

Loosing  the  binding  chains  of  Right; 

W'hile  cables  flash  across  far  seas ; 

Excluding  doubtful  Japanese; 
While  opinions  clash  in  grave  debate, 

O'er    Government    Rights  and  Freight  Re 
bate, — 
The  flaming  questions  of  the  day 

Blind  us  to  dangers  in  our  way. 

While  Capital  greets  Capital, 

Fame  applauds  her  sister,  Fame; 
While  Democracy  bows  to  Title, 

And  Tradition's  but  a  name; 

While  maidens  fall  and  mothers  weep,— 

And  morality  yields  its  sway, 
The  Titan  sleeps  a  dreamless  sleep, 

Nor  wots  the  time  of  day. 


90 


Sated  with  power,  gorged  with  wealth, 

United  but  in  name; 
The  East  disapproves  the  Golden  West; 

The  North  the  fair  South's  shame. 

She  brings  to  her  her  teeming  gold, — 

The  price  of  endless  hours, 
To  tempt  her  children,  fairy  forms 

Fit  but  to  mate  with  flowers. 

A  conqueror  sits  in  chair  of  state 
Who  bears  at  heart  the  nation's  fate; 

A  seer  rare,  a  prophet  bold, 

But  lo !  the  power  slips  his  hold ! 

The  murky  current  bends  away, 

In  vain  he  tries  the  tide  to  stay; 
Looking  beyond  the  passing  hour; 

Though  strong  his  will,  yet  weak  his  pow'r 


The  Titan  sleeps  on,  huge,  inert, 
Unconscious  and  unheard; 

While  Greed  and  Anarchy,  twin  souls, 
Play  with  the  giant's  beard. 

But  wake  he  will  and  stretch  his  limbs, 
Cramped  with  prolonged  sleep. 

He'll  shake  the  faithless  from  the  soil, 
His  anger  strong  and  deep. 

100 


Till  that  fair  day,  God  speed  its  r;\y ! 

Let  citizens  keep  faith; 
Greeting  the  hours,  fair  with  flowers, 

Loval  to  the  death. 


THE  SHIP  OF  DEATH* 

On  she  comes  —  the  ship  of  death ! 
Choking  with  her  furnace  breath, 
Grinding  slowly  toward  her  port; — 
A  vessel  armored  like  a  fort. 

Gay  parades  upon  her  deck; 
Officers,  grand  with  lace,  reflect 
But  upon  'ffairs  of  war  or  state;— 
As  sings  the  happy  careless  mate. 

But  Death  floats  as  accustomed  flag, 
While  breezes  flow  and  spirits  lag 
With  surcease  of  the  battle  shout,— 
Wearied  officers  turn  about. 

Yet  in  the  hold  a  different  state, — 

Nor  a  moment  spared  to  prate  of  fate,— 

*Two  years  ago  1  saw  the  Tennessee  off  the  Pacific  coast 
with  the  dead  stokers  in  her  hold;  meantime  men  were 
making  preparations  for  the  Sailors'  Ball  at  Long  Beach 
and  another  the  following  night  at  the  Virginia  Hotel .  where 
I  stopped;  these  thoughts  came  to  me. 

101 


The  stoker  daily  experiences  wars 

Whilst  he  feeds  the  flames  nor  minds  the 


scars. 


Some  heroes  have  been  slain  to-day ; 
Though  not  in  glorious  battle's  fray; 
And  man  shrugs  shoulder  cries,  "  'Tis 

past!" 
While  honoring  vessel  lowers  her  mast. 

'Tis  question  grave  to  ponder  'pon 
Who  fights  the  best  from  sun  to  sun! 
The  Ship  of  State  must  plough  her  way ; 
But  'tis  Death  that  speeds  her  'pon  this  day 

And  when  the  ship  sails  into  port 
And  angels  hail  her  —  afar  the  mart  — 
The  lowly  stoker,  grimed  of  face, 
Mayhap  may  step  to  admiral's  place. 


THE  FIREFLY* 

A  great  green  hush  of  lands,  waters  unbending, 

Some  holy  silence  of  lotus-pools ; 

A  swaying,   soundless,    flicker    of    white- winged 

moths. 

With  every  shadow  flutter  a  glamor  of  suns. 
My  fate  that  of  the  cicadae,  no  worse ! 

Mysterious  lamps  'pon  green  willow  boughs ; 
Festal  fires  gleam  at  fateful  hour  of  ghosts; 
102 


The  star-entangled  spheres  hold  glittering  sway, 
Far  chased  by  moonbeams,  seeking  the  dim  water's 

edge! 
'Tis  dark,  —  a  firefly  Creeps  upon  paper  pane! 

A  thrilling  of  breeze  —  racing  breath  of  lilies, 
Irises  —  kissing  dews  —  awake,  I  creep, 
Burning  with  weird  desires,  e'er  soundless  —  on ! 
Again  evening  falls,  mystery  soul  of  the  hours! 
Easily  kindled,  the  torch  of  the  firefly; 
Trenchant  at  dawn's  white  mists  he  creeps  away. 


THE  FLEET 

When  the  plan,  colossal,  bold, 
Pattern  marvelous  didst  unfold  - 
Of  a  fleet  of  ships,  steam-winged, 
Sails  clattered,  homet-stinged. 

Even  the  winds  and  waves  protest 

Long  accustomed  to  unequal  test 

Of  strength  'gainst  weakness,  wit  of  man 

Who  has  ton'qu'ror  been  since  wage  began. 

So  long  ago  primeval  state 

Of  navy  'twas  useless  to  prate, 

Of  laclc  of  progress  in  that  line 

Which  nation's  power  and  bounds  define. 

*Idea  culled  from  Lafcadio  Hearn's  "  The  Firefly." 
103 


The  foreign  races  'yond  far  seas 
Wotted  not  of  the  might  of  these 
Fair  ships,  arsenals  of  strength, 
Cannon-eyed  from  length  to  length. 

While  almond-visioned  Japanese 
Smile,  caricature  and  sneeze — 
With  thoughts  of  our  tremendous  size 
And  stretch  their  pockets  for  the  prize, 

America,  great,  generous,  grand! 
Doth  naught  but  fairest  rights  demand. 
Yet  rights  are  rights  and  gay  Japan, 
Who  steals  into  our  free  glad  land 


With  hands  that  for  our  secrets  shake, 
Will  learn,  e'er  long  —  her  grave  mistake. 
We  send  our  fleet  around  the  Horn 
Preferring  still  to  merely  warn. 

They  march  the  seas,  half  hundred  strong; 
Their  sailors  moving  to  a  song ; 
The  cry  of  battle  heard  e'en  though 
Our  pulse  is  sane,  our  action  slow. 


The  West  is  soldered  to  the  East, 
The  South  joins  in  the  tuneful  feast, 
The  fleet  goes  sailing  o'er  the  seas, 
Our  hearts  are  tethered  fast  to  these! 

104 


DEAR     LITTLK     (Mill,    NAMED    "YOU' 

Dear  little  girl  named  "You," 
What  would  you  have  me  do  ? 

I've  hugged  you  and  I've  kissed  you 
And  given  you  my  heart's  love  too. 

A  dolly  with  big  blue  eyes. 

A  great  birthday  surprise, 
A  pussy  to  pet,  a  horse  to  ride 

And  still  you  fret  unsatisfied. 

Dear  little  girl  named  "You," 
The  heartache  is  papa's  too; 

No  loving  mother  our  heads  to  press 
With  gentle  hand  —  ling'ring  caress. 

Dear  little  Pet  named  "You!  " 

God  bring  back  my  "mamma"  too! 

Xot  in  robes  of  shining  white 
To  blind  our  fond  eyes  quite. 

But  may  the  same  old  smile 

Our  loneliness  beguile; 
The  same  old  love,  the  same  old  dress ; 

The  same  old  foolish  happiness! 

Dear  little  girl  named  "You !  " 
That  is  what  I'd  have  you  do, 

Go  fetch  her  from  the  skies 
To  wipe  our  weeping  eyes. 

105 


MY  SOUL  AND  I 

We  have  wandered  far,  my  soul  and  I,  hand 
Clasping  hand,  even  breath  linked  to  breath, 
And  yet  we  strangers  are  —  strangers  —  friends 

still. 

I'd  tasted  of  life's  leas,  charmed  Beauty  from 
Her  bower;   wooed  love,  wine,  fleeting  game  of 

chance ; 

Ne'er  pausing  to  look  upon  the  shadow 
'Thwart  my  path,  the  sun  so  bright,  the  days  like 
Tripping    maids    bedecked    with    flowers, —  till 

time 

Passed  on;   love,  dice,  the  dissipated  hours  — 
Chasing  each  the  other  wanton,  bearing  stamp 
Of  fair  intent, —  wearied,  jaded  fancy, 
And  darkness  spoke  to  darkness  in  my  soul. 

I  paused  and  glanced  about  me,  sudden  beware 
That   a   Presence   stalked   beside   me,    step   for 

step, 

Silent,  dreadful,  incomprehensible, 
Straining  with  my  slim  glance  to  pierce  the  air, 
Heavy  with  panting  breath,  I  gave  pause 
To  my  leaping  fancy, —  paused  e'en  my  course  — 
Which,  unknowing,  had  strayed  e'er  downward 
Over  paths  unfriendly  to  the  feet. 
I  saw  a  child,  fair  image  of  the  dawn, 
Laughing  the  hours  away,  its  steady  gaze 
Pure  innocency,  its  glance  painful  as 
It  stabbed  —  I  started  to  see  that  the  child  was  I ! 
106 


A  man,  filled  with  rare  complacency  - 
Form,  countenance  mine  own!  I  gaze, 
Spellbound  with  seeing,  yet  unseen  of  him 
Who  wears  my  likeness.     For  on  that  white  brow 
Unmarred  save  by  that  jade,  conceit,  yet  rests 
No  shameful  blot.     We  stand  man  to  man, 
Heart  pressing  heart  —  he  passes  by  serene! 
What  shape  comes  yonder,   loathsome,  bent, — 

though  not 

With  purging  shame  ?     That  face  distorted,  blind 
To  its  own  impotence  before  all  things 
(iood,  yet  seems  a  friend  familiar.    Deigning 
Now  to  pause  in  gay  salute  —  with  eyes  whose 
Cringing  usage  'tis  to  droop, —  he  grasps  at  my 
Hands,  kisses  with  foul  lips  my  brow;   tho'  fain 
Would  I  rid  myself,  in  pure  disgust  of 
Presence  so  ignominious,  base!     I 
Struggle,  with  fair  manly  strength  ebbing 
Like  a  receding  tide,  to  rid  myself  of 
Companion  so  despised.     But  the  vision 
Has  become  real  —  draws  an  arm  in  mine! 
We  wander  linked  fast  together,  fond, — 
My  soul  and  I! 


107 


THE  MAID  TO  THE  FLOWER 

Oh,  Lily  Bells,  list'  to  me; 

My  fainting  anguish  dost  thou  not  see  ? 

My     love  hath  flown  away  from  me. 

Oh,  Lily  Bells,  thy  pearly  crest, 
Thy  lips  all  glistening  with  the  dew, 
The  panting  perfume  of  thy  breast, 
All  ascribe  the  quest  to  you. 

Oh,  Lily  Bells,  in  the  darkness  wild 
As  thou  rockest  softly,  as  a  little  child 
When  lulled  to  sleep  —  didst  see  him  row  - 
O'er  the  blue  deep  didst  bid  him  go  ? 

Oh,  Lily  Bells,  speak  to  me! 
Whisper  low  all  that  he  said 
As  on  he  sped! 

Do  I  catch  a  sad  refrain , 

Whispering  to  me  e'er  again :  — 

"  To  death  I  go  —  for  Love  lies  dead !  " 

Is  dead  —  Oh,  Lily  Bells  — 

No!     No! 

Love  never  dies  —  e'en  tho' 
In  foolish  strength  of  silly  pride 
We  will  it  so. 

But  'tis  our  weakness,  Lily  Bells  — 
Which  fatal  gift  to  each  is  given  — 
Perhaps  to  chain  us  to  the  earth  — 
Perhaps  to  lift  us  close  to  heaven  — 

108 


That  gives  our  all  — 
Ne'er  counts  the  cost, 
Nor  measures  pain  till 
Love  be  lost! 

Oh,  Lily  Bells,  dost  thou  not  know 
Just  how  the  weeping  willows  grow 
There  by  the  silent,  dreaming  river  — 
Where  rustling,  restless  rushes  quiver. 
Their  bride  the  red,  red  rose! 

Ton  alien  soil  her  feet  were  planted. 

Her  breathless  prayers  were  early  granted 

There  where  the  ebbtide  flows. 

Her  leaves  were  blood-stained  when  they  wooed  her. 
And  vainly  for  her  love  they  sued  her; 
The  tides  beckoned  her  one  swooning  day, 
And  the  willows  weep  and  weep  alway ! 

Proud  art  thou,  sweet  Lily  Bells! 
Tho'  droops  thy  tender  snowy  head; 
Thy  stem  is  bent,  thy  bloom  has  fled  - 
Like  a  nun  thou  dwellest  all  alone  — 
As  if  some  sin  thou  would'st  atone! 

Fie  upon  thee,  Lily  Bells! 
Unloved  by  thee 

Thy  mate  may  ne'er  immortal  be! 
Lift  thy  head  so  meek  and  lowly  - 
It  is  best! 

With  armor  bright  and  spirit  light 
To  guide  me  onward  to  my  quest. 
109 


THE  PIPE  DREAM  OF  A  NIGHT 

'Twas  in  the  garden  that  I  told  her  - 

Told  her  of  my  love ; 
In  the  garden  my  arms  enfold  her. 

She  is  my  love  —  my  love. 

Oh,  sweet,  oh  fair  delight, 

O  spell,  spun  of  the  gloaming! 

'Twas  in  the  garden  that  I  kissed  her  — 
My  heart  for  her  is  roaming. 

Why,  oh,  why  uproot  the  garden, 
Of  our  young  soul's  fair  delight ! 

Why,  oh,  why  pull  down  the  castle  — 
The  pipe  dream  of  a  night  ? 

Through  pearly  clouds  I  see  her  face: 
She  smiles  through  curling  ring. 

I  grasp  the  air,  essay  to  catch  her, — 
My  dream's  a  haunted  thing! 


THE  ROSE'S  COURTSHIP 

The  Rose  looked  up, 
"  Oh,  will  you  sup 
With  me,  my  busy  bee  ?  " 

"I'm  a  pretty  creature, 
Dainty,  small  of  stature, 
While  you  so  gorgeous  are." 
no 


"  O  Rose,"  quoth  the  Bee, 
"Each  hour's  dear  to  me. 
I'm  too  busy  by  far." 

"Well,  then,"  pouts  the  Rose 
"Don't  ever  dare  propose 
My  honey  sweets  to  sip. 

"There's  vi'let  and  lily 
Who'd  take  it  but  illy 
If  I'd  mate  with  thee." 

The  bee  buzzed  aside : 
"Be  thou  my  fair  bride 
E'er  dries  the  new  dew!" 

"  Oh,  no,"  cried  the  flower, 

"  'Tis  too  fair  an  hour,— 

My  charms  too  radiant  beam." 

"Well,  then,"  growled  the  Bee, 
"I'll  not  mate  with  thee; 
The  vi'let  sweet  I'll  take. 

"  You're  the  garden's  queen, 

'Tis  easy  to  be  seen, 

But  you're  for  me  no  mate." 

"Aha!"  laughed  the  Rose, 
"Who'd  ever  suppose 
I'd  bend  to  thee  at  all  ? 

Ill 


"The  flowers  sway  to  me 

The  south  wind  sighs  to  me 

The  twittering  birds  sing :  'Tra  —  la  —  la' 

The  meadow  lark  calls  me :  'La  —  la  —  la' 

The  brook  laughs  to  me :  'Ha  —  ha  —  ha' 

While  you  but  buzz  —  buzz, 

You  quarrelsome  bee! 

The  birds  sing  to  me :  'Tra  —  la  —  la' 

The  flowers  call  to  me :  'Ha  —  ha  —  ha' 

The  skies  bend  down  to  kiss  my  face; 

O  bee,  thou  art  quite  out  of  place!" 


HANDS  WHITE  AND  BROWN 

To  Theodore  Roosevelt 

Hands  white  and  brown,  hands  brown  and  white, 
The  sign  of  the  sun,  the  sign  of  the  night. 
The  sign  of  fair  peace,  the  sign  of  dark  wars  ;— 
Hands    slender    and    white,    hands    brown    and 
slender ! 

Hands  from  the  East,  hands  from  the  West; 
Hands  stretched  across  lands  and  across  seas; 
Can  you  not  clasp  as  hosts  at  rest, 
Or  gather  life's  flowers  as  you  please? 

The  same  pattern  both,  the  brown  and  the  white, 
The  same  tapering  finger  tips, 
Tho'  varied  the  faces  as  day  is  from  night 
And  varied  the  curve  of  the  lips. 

112 


The  same  Gods  both  —  courage  and  love! 

For  their  fellows  in  Freedom's  hold; 

The  white  and   the  brown,  the  brown   and   the 

white  — 
Let's  gather  them  both  in  our  fold. 


IIS 


LYRICS  AND  LEGENDS  OF 
CALIFORNIA  AND  THE  WEST 


ALCATRAZ* 

Fair  AJcatraz,  flowery,  radiant  isle, 
The  west  wave  seeks  thee  to  beguile, 
Sighs  like  a  lover  at  thy  feet, 
Where  restless  bay  and  ocean  meet ; 
Fair  Alcatraz ! 

Midst  thy  bright  paths  where  blossoms  bloom, 
Thy  rock-ribbed  sides  a  haunting  tomb, 
Sunbeams  glancing  the  fair  crest, 
Warming  the  adder  at  thy  breast ; 
Sad  Alcatraz : 

'Neath  golden  glade  and  moonlit  slope, 
Fashioned  for  joy  made  glad  with  hope, 
A  prison  dungeon  hides  its  nest; 
To  thee,  fair  isle,  a  sad  bequest;  — 
O  Alcatraz ! 

Thy  feet  lie  pointing  to  the  land, 
Thy  face  turned  ever  to  the  sea, 
While  fainting  pris'ners,  drugged  with  grief, 
Cry  and  beseech  thee  for  relief,— 
Drear  Alcatraz ! 

Nay !  'tis  not  thine  to  give  or  take, 
E'en  though  sheer  anguish  hearts  may  break ; 
Thy  fair  form  crouching  still  must  be, 
Thy  feet  to  the  land ,  thy  face  to  the  sea ; 
Sad  Alcatraz ! 

*Alcatraz — A  prison  island  in  San  Francisco  Bay.  At 
a  distance  this  Island  resembles  a  battleship.  Whether 
sun,  moon,  or  fog-wreathed  it  forms  an  attractive  feature  of 
the  harbor. 

117 


Gazing  through  the  Golden  Gate, 
Thy  ribs  of  rock  and  heart  of  hate 
Break  and  shatter  with  a  cry, 
Like  jungle  beasts  when  prey  is  nigh ; 
Dread  Alcatraz ! 


Thy  face  turns  toward  the  rising  sun, 
Thy  eyes  gleam  bright  with  victory  won ; 
A  magic  isle  floats  out  to  sea, 
Daring  her  fate,  whate'er  it  be. 
Blest  Alcatraz ! 


Her  ribs  of  rock  'neath  flowers  sleep, 
Her  frozen  veins  bid  fountains  leap  - 
'Mid  soft  airs  laden  with  perfume 
Where  once  had  echoed  the  cannon's  boom, 
Smiles  Alcatraz! 


A  fairy  castle  crowns  her  crest ; 
It  towers  high,  a  vision  blest, 
Whilst  sailors  drop  their  knees  in  prayer 
To  see  it  shining,  glittering  there;  — 
Fair  Alcatraz! 

O'er  Ocean's  restless,  trackless  course, 
Her  heart  fires  feeding  on  remorse, 
Cries  of  the  drowning  in  her  ears, 
Voices  strangled  with  bitter  tears ; 
Sails  Alcatraz ! 

118 


Midst  winter's  snows  and  summer's  heat, 
Where  mermaids  sing  and  wild  waves  beat, 
Drifts  the  lovely,  enchanted  isles, 
Ever  seeking  her  mood  to  beguile. 
Tired  Alcatraz ! 


Then  back  'cross  seas  e'er  'tis  too  late, 
Sails  the  fairy  craft,  the  Golden  Gate 
Opening  wider  with  surprise, 
Whilst  men  watch,  stilled,  with  straining  eyes, 
Strange  Alcatraz! 

The  reveille  announces  the  break  of  dawn, 
A  golden,  sunlit,  peerless  morn, 
Nor  prisoners  turned  o'er  in  their  cells, 
Nor  clanking  chains  their  presence  tells ; — 
At  Alcatraz ! 

A  crouching,  tawny,  patient  form 
And  glad  gold  waves  with  silver  'larms; 
The  burden  of  her  song  will  be : 
"  My  task  is  done,  the  prisoner  free !  " 
Proud  Alcatraz ! 


Thus  dreamed  iron-bound  Alcatraz, 
Whose  fair  domain,  dark  dungeon  has 
Robbed  of  flower  and  life  and  joy, 
Her  dreams  and  visions  base  alloy; 
Drear  Alcatraz ! 

119 


She  watches  by  the  Golden  Gate, 
Cannons  booming  early  and  late, 
Feet  to  the  land,  face  to  the  sea, 
What,  oh  what  may  her  fate  be! 
Sad  Alcatraz ! 


CALIFORNIA  POPPIES 

Poppies,  running  o'er  the  hill, 
Poppies  trooping  to  the  sea ; 

Laughing  gaily,  by  the  rill, 
Bending  low  with  elfin  glee ! 

Golden,  golden  in  the  sun, 

Swaying,  swaying  in  the  breeze, 

Dancing,  joyous  fairy  flow'rs, 
Lighting  up  our  weary  hours ! 

Burning  lamps  of  fragrant  air, 
Loving  both  the  land  and  sea ; 

Poppies,  poppies  everywhere ! 
Scattering  beams  of  light  for  me ! 


AND  ALL   HER   DAYS   WERE   WAITING 

And  all  her  days  were  waiting, 

And  all  her  joys  wore  done, 
Still  she  gazed  with  features  smiling, 

Toward  the  mesax  bathed  in  sun. 
And  heat  waves  swam  and  shivered, — 

Blurred  soft  the  saffron  hills, — 
And  all  the  land  was  afevered, 

And  the  rivers  ceased  their  trills. 
And  still  the  ocean  thundered 

And  spilt  his  soul  in  spray, 
And  wheeling  gulls,  ahungered, 

Beat  wings  in  dire  dismay. 
For  settler's  dream  was  ended, 

The  plague  writhed  sinuous,  far, 
And  the  fish  were  dead  in  the  ocean, 

And  man  cried  loud  for  a  star 
With  holy  effulgent  meaning, 

To  solve  the  spell  of  day; 
For  the  sun  beat  hellish  music, 

Upon  the  hollow  brain; 
And  the  Sierra  Madre's  smiling 

Was  linked  chain  of  pain. 
And  hazes'  purpled  veilings 

Were  giddy  chasms  of  deeps; 
And  opal  ocean's  glitter, 

A  thing  to  haunt  in  sleeps. 
And  all  had  died  of  horrors, 

Who  had  not  died  of  plague, 

121 


And  the  woman's  lusty  lover, 
Came  not  o'er  the  mesas  vague. 

Steeped  e'er  in  a  dreamless  slumber, 

The  carrion-bird's  hoarse  call  — 
Its  loathsome  shadow  hovering, 

O'er  what  was  woman's  all. 
For  sacred  troth  they'd  plighted, 

A  month  ago,  in  June, — 
Some  nacre  twilight's  blessing, 

Some  cricket's  chirping  tune  — 
Now  all  her  tribe  had  followed 

The  trail  so  white  and  long, 
And  only  the  woman  lingered 

In  this  land,  while  Death's  grim  song 
Swung  like  wan  wreaths  o'er  hilltops, 

And  sunk  in  the  lone  sand  dunes; — 
E'en  deep  in  the  bed  of  the  ocean, 

Which  chanted  its  endless  runes. 

And  all  her  days  were  grieving, 

And  all  her  joys  undone, 
And  she  sank  in  Death's  hard  battle, 

At  drop  of  the  swooning  sun. 


122 


RUSHES  BY  THE  LAKE 

Rushes,  rushes,  sunshine-bred, 
The  spirit-breezes  fan  thy  head; 
The  marshes,  lilied  at  thy  feet 
Whilst  to  thy  haunts  the  Pomos*  creep! 

Whisp'ring  there  their  secrets,  paged 
With  wrinkle-seamed  age; 
How  their  patterns  they  unfold, 
Known  but  to  the  Pomos  old; 

Bending  low  to  catch  thy  breath, — 
Faithful  thou  until  thy  death, — 
Well  the  Indians  list  thy  song 
Weave  it  into  patterns  long: 

Chuckling  as  they  pass  unseen 
'Neath  the  shadow  of  thy  green; 
For  it  is  thy  wave  they  take 
To  weave  in  baskets  for  Art's  sake: — 

The  song  of  lark  and  gay  red-bill, 
Comb-feathers  too  for  which  they  kill; 
Their  hopes  they  never  may  fulfill ; 
The  tint  of  tawny  summer  hill. 

Baskets  tiny  —  fairy-small  - 
Wove  with  sweetest  love  of  all; 
"•Indian  tribe  of  California. 
128 


Dainty,  dainty,  for  papoose! 
Never  meant  for  the  slightest  use. 

Sitting  by  the  rushes  slim, 
Weaving  till  the  eyes  grow  dim, 
Age,  with  blindness,  soon  appears  — 
Then  it  is  the  rush-song  cheers. 

Weaving  —  chewing  —  habits  dear ; 
Sing  the  rushes  in  her  ear; 
Hymns  of  larks  and  twilights  caught 
To  embroider  Mahala's  thought. 

Moonbeams  shiver,  rushes  quake 

'Pon  border  of  ensilvered  lake; 

And  then  it  is,  the  Porno  knows 

The  Great  Spirit  smiles  with  rare  repose. 

Rushes,  rushes,  billowed  seas 
Tossing  plumes  where'er  they  please! 
Crested  like  a  wave  of  foam 
While  the  Spirit  wanders  home. 


124 


A  LEGEND  OF  BLUE  LAKES 

In  the  land  of  the  peaceful  Pomos, 
Conquered  land  of  lake  and  sky, 
Weaves  an  honored  ancient  legend— 
Pokogama's*  spirit  lingers  nigh! 
Maid  Pokogama,  swift-winged  swallow, 
Named  for  bird  of  graceful  flight, 
Lived  in  tepee  of  her  fathers  — 
Cloud-ghosts  forming  in  her  sight! 
Smiles  like  ripples  of  the  rushes, 
Billowing  tresses,  fanned  by  bree/e. 
Throughout  all  the  golden  country 
All  the  princess  'sired  to  please. 

Koko,  prince  of  royal  princes, 
Claimed  the  maiden;    bended  low 
Before  beauty  fairer,  rarer 
Than  the  tribe  was  wont  to  know. 
Pokogama,  belle  of  the  nation, 
Things  of  laughter,  melting  dews. 
Shook  her  head,  whose  falling  tresses, 
Were  like  the  water's  rippling  views; 
Declaring  that  the  Great  White  Spirit 
Forbade  her  in  her  dreams  to  wed. 
He  would  well  reward  her  patience, 
With  fairer  kingdom  crown  her  head! 

Long  she  waited,  trem'lous,  pray'rful. 
Drooped  poor  Koko,  found  in  wars, 

*Pronounced  (Po-gama). 

125 


Bloody,  fearful,  'gainst  his  nature 

Surcease  from  his  lagging  cause. 

Maid  Pokogama,  dreaming,  waiting  for  the  gift 

that  beamed  afar, — 

Now  from  Clear  Lake's  shimm'ring  bosom, 
Now  from  sinking  evening  star, — 
Wandered  among  the  moon-chased  shadows, 
'Neath  the  gloom  of  mountain-sides, 
E'en  to  where  the  peak  Konochti 
Bends  his  head  'gainst  lava  tides. 

Great  Konochti,  the  smoking  mountain, — 

Lips  gashed  open  —  hideous  grin  — 

Drear  the  dreams  that  feed  the  furnace 

Eating  through  thy  heart  within ! 

Peerless  peak!  restless  volcano 

Cursed  by  the  Great  Spirit  blest, 

Doomed  by  him  to  spit  forth  fire 

Without  ceasing,  without  rest;  saw  the  wand'ring, 

sad  Pokogama, 
Moonlit  shade  of  spirit  dear, 
Slip  along  like  a  slinking  current; 
Hands  to  shaking  breast,  with  fear. 

For  she  seeks  the  Great  White  Spirit, 

Smiling  calm  upon  silvered  lake, 

For  fulfilment  of  that  promise  made  in  dreams 

now  all  awake. 
Starts  the  maiden,  for  a  serpent-creature,  limned 

with  streaks  of  fire, 
126 


Strikes  her  path  where  moonlight's  ended— 

Calling  to  her  mad  desire. 

Sheds  the  lake  her  veil  of  silver, 

Dark  and  brooding  is  the  night,  whilst  e'er  on 
ward  with  the  serpent, 

Whose  eyes  form  arcs  to  guide  their  flight, 

Flees  the  charmed  Porno  princess,  darling  of  her 
tribe  and  race! 

Kindly  do  the  clouds,  all  graying, 

Hide  the  marring  of  her  face. 

Enamored,  linked  to  the  serpent, 
Following  fast  his  sinuous  stride, — 
Swallow-maid,  her  limbs  aquiver,  eager  to  become 

his  bride: 
To  his  haunt  far  o'er  the  hill   crests,  meadows, 

songful  fields  of  grain, 
Carries  he  the  Indian  maiden  'til  he  finds  his  cave 

again. 

Locked  in  slumber  with  the  serpent 

Pokogama  sleeps  away  the  hours ; 

Heedless  of  her  place  or  station ;  heedless  of  Great 

Spirit's  powers. 
Wheel  of  sun  marks  daylight's  passing;  wheel  of 

moon  the  path  of  night; 
Strike  the  hearts  of  water  mated, 
Jewelled  lakes  fair  to  the  sight! 
Sapphire-twins,  lapis  lazuli  — 
Legend  pierces  each  deep  breast 

1*7 


Of  the  doomed  Porno,  maiden,  chained  to  one  — 

a  sad  bequest. 
Changed  to  serpent  by  the  Great  Spirit,  as  he  to 

whom  she  had  giv'n  her  troth. 
While  to  the  other  the  Satan  tempter  is  doomed 
By  the  selfsame  wrath. 


Blue  lakes,  gems  of  changing  color! 
Riv'ling  blue  of  the  turquoise  skies, 
Riv'ling  green  of  deepest  emerald, 
Riv'ling  depth  of  deepest  sighs, 
Set  'tween  hills  —  like  drooping  pendants 
Strung  from  heaven  —  like  twin  smiles, 
Charmed  to  radiance,  molten,  golden, 
By  the  shades  that  man  beguiles ! 
Indians — fearful — shun  thy  beauty. 
Spun  by  dreams  whose  fancy  grave 
Sent  the  princess  —  e'en  Pokogama  — 
To  scatter  jewels  upon  thy  wave. 


]28 


CALIFORNIA  WILD  FLOWERS 

Wild  eyes,  wild  eyes! 
Lifted  coy  with  sweet  surprise: 
Teach  me  of  thy  mood,  my  friend, 
While  o'er  hilltop's  way  I  trend! 

How  hast  kept  thy  simple  grace, 
Single  petals,  singular  face 
Through  the  striving  centuries  past :  — 
Kept  thy  blue  and  primrose  fast! 

Weary  humans,  city-tired, 
By  thy  wealth  of  wildness  'spired; 
Children,  leaning  cheek  'pon  cheek  - 
Knowing  ones,  that  flowers  seek! 
Blues  of  streams  and  snows  and  skies; 
Velvet  blacks  and  browns  for  eyes; 
Drinking  from  full  Mother  Earth 
Perfumes  faint,  distilled  at  birth. 

Ringing  tiny  bells  at  even, 
Fairy  clappers  chime  at  seven; 
Hath  God  set  His  seal  of  power 
Ton  the  leaf  of  simple  flower? 

Wild  eyes,  wild  eyes, 

Lifted  coy,  without  surprise, 

Take  me  to  thy  gentle  heart: 

I  cannot  bear  that  we  should  part! 


129 


IN  THE  SHOSHONE  LAND 

The  Purple  hills  rise  in  thy  sight 

In  the  Shoshone  Land; 
The  mesas  wild  the  flowers  blight 

In  the  Shoshone  Land. 

The  Sun  beats  warmly  on  thy  back 

In  the  Shoshone  Land; 
The  Devil's  brewing  'neath  thy  track 

In  the  Shoshone  Land: 

The  sands  are  deep  and  winds  rise  high 

In  the  Shoshone  Land; 
The  red  peaks  pant  against  the  sky 

In  the  Shoshone  Land: 

Timbers  grow  low  and  stout  of  band 

In  the  Shoshone  Land: 
Thy  shape  is  like  a  hollowed  hand — 

Beautiful  Shoshone  Land! 

The  eagle  nests  on  rotten  cliff 

In  the  Shoshone  Land; 
The  big-horn  tramps  through  deep  snowdrift 

High  in  Shoshone  Land. 

The  desert  hills  slope  far  and  near 

In  the  Shoshone  Land; 
There  are  rainless  days  most  of  the  year 

In  the  Shoshone  Land. 
130 


Silent,  we  "  fold  our  tents  away," 

In  the  Shoshone  Land; 
S«-;i  rolling  covert  for  our  prey 

In  the  Shoshone  Land. 

All  through  the  desert  call  of  loves 

In  the  Shoshone  Land; 
The  Indians  and  mourning  doves  — 

In  the  Shoshone  Land: 

Silent,  we  the  wildness  watch 

In  the  Shoshone  Land; 
Men  and  beast  and  feathered  flock 

In  the  Shoshone  Land. 

The  Piute  ever  hungers  bold 

For  the  Shoshone  Land; 
He  tells  his  young  how  men  grow  old 

Far  from  Shoshone  Land. 

How  youth  to  youth  leaps  in  the  blood 

In  the  Shoshone  Land; 
How  age  comes  on  like  crawling  flood 

In  the  Shoshone  Land. 

How  the  Great  Spirit  hovers  near 

In  the  Shoshone  Land; 
Ne'er  peeping  o'er  the  borders  drear 

Of  the  Shoshone  Land. 


181 


PASSING  THE  SALTON  SEA  AT  SUNSET 

Mountains   blurred    ragged    against   faint,    pearl 

skies; 
Th'    Eternal    Painter's    brush    pauses,    trembles 

with  sighs 

As  peak  upon  peak  is  softly  limned ; 
The  sun's  gold  center  a  moment  dimmed  - 
The  Desert  gray! 

Lotus  airs,  swept  to  thee  by  velvet  fans  — 
The  low-swaying  movement  of  unseen  hands; 
Melody  falling  —  a  singing  of  old  dreams ! 
Rests  thy  spirit  like  suspended  streams  — 
Gaunt  shadows  quake! 

Silent  life  —  silent  sea  —  mysterious  dread ! 
Silent  the  drones  of  sea-shells  —  heaved  by  seas 

long  dead. 

The  Desert  misty  with  waters  seems  — 
Whence  these  spaces  —  whence  these  dreams  ? 
A  shadow  world ! 


Softer  \vinds  —  the  ghosts  of  rose-petals  those ! 
Wake  far  peaks,  rubbing  eyes  —  charms  close  — 
A  silver  mirror  blending  to  tints  of  doves; 
A  dim  regret  for  other  loves; 
A  listening  for  some  song  unsung; 
The  pulsing  Desert  —  long  old  —  is  young. 
132 


Steals  an  arm  into  space  with  truant  trace, 
The  waist  of  mountain  melts  into  weird  embra<  -  ; 
A  burnished  elbow  touched  by  the  sinking  sun 
Shake  all  the  shades  by  gaunt  Desert  won. 
Aswirl  the  sands,  upon  whose  pictures  seers  found 
Futurity;  faint  the  wind-bell's  sound. 

Slow-changing  to  pale  day-blue,  the  ripples  flee. 

Mesquite,  sage,  curving  nostrils  to  the  sea; 

Reach  eagerly  for  their  death;  and  pant! 

The  open  hands  of  straw-colored  palms  suppliant ! 

Tortuous  peaks,  striving  with  pain, 

Breathe  out  rose  vapors  —  faint  pale  again. 

Colors  celestial  —  of  earth  nor  heaven  - 
Partaking  of  both,  the  skies  are  given. 
Shiver  of  waters,  changing  to  twilight  green; 
Wings  of  silver  melting,  as  dreams,  are  seen. 
The  sheer  peaks  heaving  into  purples  old ; 
The  jade  vapors  tremble  —  their  tints  grow  cold. 


Spirits    of    pink    carnations    walk  —  fragrance 

grants 
Room  for  lapping  tongues,  where  thirst-lipped 

Desert  pants. 
Dead    palms    arising    like    golden   ghosts — sad 

shades! 

The  sea  around  —  drape  gray-dim  water-glades. 
Night  gropes,  shoots  a  star  into  silent  spheres; — 
It  trembles,  blinds  the  land  and  disappears. 
133 


'Gain  the  treading  of  Desert  ghosts  stirs  the  air; 

Pale  wings  of  palms  are  folded  in  pray'r 

Silver  Desert  bosomed  'gainst  silver  sea; 

The  moon  flames  swift  to  gold  —  as  star  doth  flee ! 

Faint  upon  the  ear  the  mystery  voices  — 

The  night-bird  lists  —  the  sea  rejoices. 
*         *         *         #         # 

The  sage  brush  whitens  to  flow'r  'neath  lum'nous' 
kiss; 

A  spell  holds  the  soul  of  things  quiescent  — yearn 
ing  bliss 

Marks  flight  of  man,  feeding  'pon  mystic  diet, 

Whilst  thoughts,  like  shaken  waters,  hug  the  quiet. 

Shrunken  shapes  of  cacti,  souls  doomed  to  eternal 
sands  — 

Crooning  of  ghost-voices  throughout  the  solemn 
lands. 

Behind  the  weave  of  moon  —  myriad  bright. 

The  eyes  that  stare  through  the  lacy  light, 

And  shame  the  sea  which  disappears — 

The  wings  of  the  moon  push  from  the  skies  the 

glitter  of  tears: 
The    Desert    sees,    listens    shouts    hosannahs — 

sleeps; 
Man  dreams,  wonders,  shivers, —  also  sleeps. 


134 


FISHERS  OF  AVALOX 

My  face  to  burning  western  sun, 
'Tis  sweet  to  gaze  'pon  Avalon; 
'Pon  sweep  of  hill,  'pon  fretted  seas; 
Ton  netted  gold  the  waves  have  spun! 

The  homing  gulls, 

The  sudden  lulls, 

'Pon  dancing  buoys, 

Ton  simple  joys! 

See,  Great  Pacific's  sparkling  crown 
Reflects  long  slopes  of  tawny  brown, 
And  soft  the  light  long  twilights  bring 
And  purpled  shadows  leap  and  frown; 

And  sobbing  runes 

To  silver  tunes 

With  tireless  drums 

The  ocean  strums. 

The  dripping  sails,  like  curving  wings, 
Are  battered  and  encarnadined; 
The  fisher's  fate  all  smileless  sings, 
Yet  splendid  tales  the  fisher  brings, 

And  tides  that  rip, 

And  booms  that  trip, 

Ne'er  courage  takes, 

As  port  he  makes. 

An  island,  soft  with  opal  light, 
Swims  in  a  misty,  moon-kissed  night; 
Washed  pure  by  phosphorescent  waves, 


That  now  caress,  now,  screaming,  fight! 
And  fishers  brown 
Swing,  turn  to  town 
Their  welcomes  shout 
The  silence  out. 

Now,  home  at  last,  their  wives  to  warn, 
Caress  their  babes,  rise  e'er  the  morn; 
When  skies  drip  gloom,  and  waters  boom, 
Put  out  again  with  jolly  scorn 

Of  fogs  that  freeze 

The  tongues  of  breeze; 

And  waves  that  churn 

They  need  must  spurn. 

My  face  to  burning  western  sun, 

'Tis  sad  to  gaze  'pon  Avalon; 

For  fisher  boats  which  artists  paint, 

And  reddened  sails,  which  sunbeams  glint. 

May  come  again, 

But  when !  Ah,  when  ? 

Drifts  dragging  sail, 

While  women  wail. 

For  storms  must  break  upon  these  shores, 
Must  twist  and  shriek  their  fury  roars, 
And  men  must  dare  and  work  and  fail ; 
Battle  with  sail  in  sudden  gale; 

The  fishers  brown 

Go  down,  go  down! 

Their  grave  the  deep, 

God  guard  their  sleep! 
136 


SUMMER  HEDGES   OF   LAKE  COUNTY, 
CALIFORNIA 


Summer  hedges,  wildly  grown, 
From  thy  spray  the  wild  rose  blown; 
Verdant  tongues  drink  in  the  air- 
Summer  hedges  spreading  there, 


Where,  'gainst  fields  of  rippling  green, 
Bluest  lakes,  are,  dimpling,  seen! 
Over  fences,  covering  well  - 
Casting  June's  entrancing  spell. 

There's  sweet-briar,  breath-attuned! 
Sage-brush,  buck-eye  crowding  June: 
Evanescent  —  without  stint  - 
Refreshing,  'ticing,  pungent  mint! 

Poppies  —  empty  cups  of  gold,— 
Forming  myriad  swaying  fold : 
Indian  paint  brush  —  torch  of  flame  — 
Baby-blue-eyes  —  sweet  of  name! 


Tender  laurels,  clematis  too, 
"  Ragged  robins  "  pink  of  hue, 
Rushes  new  and  panting,  quake, 
Reaching  vaguely  for  the  lake. 

137 


Weeping  willow  pushing  in, 

Giant  ferns  —  the  rushes  win . 

And  where  the  hedge  casts  shadows,  fair 

Trem'lous,  shrinking  maiden-hair. 

Summer  hedges,  wild  of  growth! 
To  leave  thee  e'er  the  spirit  loath, 
Starred  with  white  and  gold  and  pink  — 
Sweetest  nectars  for  thy  drink! 

Wheat  and  rye,  our  golden  grain ; 
Sweet  alfalfa  comes  again; 
Summer  hedges,  from  thy  laugh 
Something  of  thy  mood  I  quaff. 
Vine  and  spray  and  grasses  'twine: 
Summer  hedges  wild  —  divine! 


TO  0-KIKU* 


Sweet  O-Kiku!     Eastern  flower, 
Transplanted  to  a  foreign  bower! 
Trilling  Heathen  English  thing, — 
Stranger  songs  thou  could'st  not  sing! 

*To  Miss  Aoki. 

138 


Purest  English  from  thy  lips, 
For  teeth,  hast  pearls  'gainst  coral  tips. 
Kimona  gay,  nor  flowery  glees 
Confound  thee  with  the  Japanese! 

For  thou  art  American! 
Flower  blown  from  fair  Japan !  — 
Lotus-blossom  'gainst  the  Rose;  — 
Strange  the  pair  that  schoolward  goes! 

And  though  thy  name's  Chrysanthemum,! 
Thy  half -closed  eyes  are  pools  of  dreams; 
And  tinted  rift  of  cheery-bloom 
Hath  brushed  thy  cheek,  which  radiant  seems. 

All  thy  friends,  companions,  girls 
White  of  cheek  —  hair  brown  or  gold ; 
Of  different  manners,  different  ways, — 
Sulky,  smiling,  sweet  or  bold. 

Will  this  golden  Eastern  Flower 
E'er  yearn  for  friends  of  selfsame  plan  ? 
Transplanted  Bloom — O  Kiku! 
Would  thou  wert  in  fair  Japan! 


tO-KJku-Chrysanthemum. 
139 


The  old  man's  glance  is  slanting 
At  mountain,  stream,  and  tree; 

And  quiet  is  his  manner,  soft 
His  courteous  smile  at  me. 

At  times  he's  just  one  sunny 

Seamed  stone  of  gray; 
At  others  gazes  steadily 

At  changing  clouds  all  day. 

And  tho'  he  is  so  gentle 

One's  eye  strains  to  'main  dry, 
He  seldom  speaks  or  questions  — 

Save  blossom,  blade,  or  sky. 

For  fifty  years  and  over 

He's  dwelt  among  these  hills. 

He's  caught  the  rhythm  of  waters 
And  learned  the  tunes  of  rills. 

No  doubt  he  has  forgotten 
The  early,  golden  days, 

When  he,  a  "  forty-niner  " 
With  dashing,  breezy  ways, 

Drilled  into  those  mountains 
Or  sifted  gold  from  streams! 

To  see  him  one  would  wonder 
If  these  weren't  only  dreams. 
140 


Yet  they're  the  facts;  don't  doubt  them! 

Though  dreams  around  him  twine; 
For  all  did  not  strike  millions 

In  golden  forty-nine. 

There  were  disappointed  trailers, 
And  some  were  worth  the  race 

In  all  that  makes  for  manhood, 
Who  could  not  keep  the  pace! 

So  that  when  we  speak  of  "  Failures  " 

We  must  remember  these 
Who're  waiting  in  the  valleys 

With  the  sunshine  'cross  their  knees. 

Tho',  in  faith,  they  seem  contented, 

Tho'  of  quiet,  humble  mien, 
It  may  be  they  are  sorrowing 

For  dreams  that  might  have  been! 

Throughout  California 

These  "  Failures  "  can  be  found, 
Who're  simply  "  The  Forgotten," 

Success  ne'er  looks  around : 

But  I  can't  believe  he  minds  it. 

With  that  eternal  grace 
Of  gentle  pools  and  rushes 

Reflected  in  his  face!  * 

*I  saw  old,  gnarled  men  up  in  the  mountains  with  a 
wonderful  look  of  peace.  They  tilled  the  ground  or  did 
nothing  and  seemed  quite  content;  always  greeting  the 
stranger  with  a  courteous  smile  and  a  lifting  of  shabby 
hat  or  cap 

141 


THE  FOG 

Cold-lipped,  cold-armed, 
Gray-hued,  cloud  formed, 
Thy  beard  entangling  mast  and  sail, 
Thy  gray  robes  blowing  in  the  gale, 
A  tombless  ghost  art  thou,  O  fog! 

Rainbow-hued,  rosy  lipped, 
Gold-haired,  flame-tipped, 
Thy  white  arms,  perfumed  like  flowers, 
Clasping  sails  through  glooming  hours. 
Thy  wooing  voice  like  woman's,  sweet, 
Thy  drap'ries  spreading  from  thy  feet. 
Art  calling,  calling  from  the  sea. 

Drifting  o'er  the  moonlit  dale, 

Cov'ring  as  a  bridal  veil, 

The  mountains  blushing  'neath  thy  kiss, 

Voiceth  thou  but  purest  bliss, — 

Cold  again  at  break  of  dawn, 

Cruel,  soulless,  rolling  on ! 

Art  thou  ghoul  or  spirit,  Fog  ? 


142 


0  TWINING  FLOWER 

(Clematis) 

O  twining  flower!  fairy  bloom  of  desert  wild, 
Trembling  there  in  thy  loneliness ; 
Thou  dantiest,  frailest,  clinging  child, 
Cease  repining!    Sweet  thy  mission, 
O  Flower  of  Twining! 

Birds  call  to  thee  from  the  mountain, 
They  sing  to  thee  low  by  the  river, 
Thy  breath's  a  perpetual  fountain 
Of  song;  thy  sweet  soul's  aquiver, 
O  Flower  of  Twining! 

White,  white  thy  gleam  at  morn's  greeting, 
Blue  and  white  at  eve's  passing  shade; 
Fairer  still  on  maiden's  breast, 
Sweet  trembling  flower!    Oh!   joy  so  fleeting! 
O  Flower  of  Twining! 

Thy  face,  a  fair  star  in  the  gloaming, 
Thy  frail  branch  a  ladder  love-mounted, 
To  woo  thee  thy  lover  is  roaming, — 
O  trembling  flower,  cease  repining! 
O  Flower  of  Twining! 


143 


SAN  RAFAEL 

Glimpse  of  wan  hills  from  the  valley, 
Glimpse  of  the  sea  from  the  heights; 
As  we  list  to  the  lips  of  the  west  wind 
Soughing  through  the  glooming  nights! 
We  hark  the  lapping  of  wavelets 
And  the  home  cry  of  lowing  kine, 
While  the  oriole  sings  to  the  white  rose 
Whose  gleams  the  pale  stars  would  entwine. 

There  are  scattered  homesteads  of  beauty; 

There  are  cottages  rude  and  small, 

But  the  Great  Spirit  o'erlooks  the  difference 

His  loveliness  enchaining  all. 

Radiant  garlands  entwining, 

O'er  pillar  and  trellis  and  beams. 

Nor  Honey-birds  cease  e'er  their  dining 

Till  the  Night  clasps  the  Day  in  her  dreams. 

Airs  blow  pure  and  free  from  the  mountains, 
There's  a  soft,  golden  haze  o'er  the  vale, 
And  silv'ry  the  ghost  of  the  moonlight 
As  it  stalks  through  fair  San  Rafael. 
Zephyrs  blow  soft  mid  the  rose-bloom, 
And  swell  to  a  gale  in  the  night, 
When  all  save  the  white-browed  lilies 
Have  hidden  away  from  the  sight. 

And  there  the  gold-powdered  acacia 
Breathes  troth  to  the  pink  locust  in  spring; 
And  forget-me-nots  call  to  the  lilies, 
144 


And  the  blue  bird  is  swift  on  the  wing: 
And  there  the  tall  eucalyptus 
Dusts  with  green  plumes  the  blue  sky, 
Or  blushes  soft  as  the  grape  vine 
As  it  lists  to  the  wooing  wind's  sigh. 

There  are  lakes  of  gold  in  the  meadow, 
There  are  streamlets  of  blue  'gainst  the  wave 
Of  tall  grasses  that  bend  like  the  willows, 
Or  tramp  the  round  hills  bold  and  brave. 
The  Poppy  flowers  steep  in  the  noon-rays, 
And  sing  a  blithe  song  in  the  breeze, 
With  the  blue  bell  and  daisy  and  larkspur  — 
The  gifts  of  the  spring  goddess,  these. 

While  the  oak  tree  stands  high  on  the  hillside, 
And  the  bay  seeks  clear  water  rills, 
While  the  poplars  shimmer  to  silver, 
And  the  fern-fronds  hide  low  in  the  dells, 
The  wild  sage  and  gay  manzanita 
Draw  nearer  their  legend  to  tell 
Of  a  padre  good  from  the  Southland, 
Who  planted  the  gold  rose  Rafael. 

He  built  him  a  hut  of  adobe, 
On  whose  magical  growth  they  dwell, 
And  planted  his  vineyard  and  rose  tree, 
Which  he  named  the  San  Rafael. 
As  the  west  wind  shrieked  through  the  valley, 
As  he  prayed  in  his  lonely  cell, 
In  memory  of  his  lost  rancheria, 
He  planted  the  purple  wistaria. 
145 


Each  brown  hill  hides  in  full  bosom, 

A  grave  secret  if  she  would  but  tell,— 

Rare  legends  of  romance  and  beauty 

Of  the  flower-crowned  San  Rafael. 

The  live-oak  whispers  wise  counsel, 

And  to  chatter  the  clover  wakes  soon; 

While  the  passion-flower  woos  the  fair  heav'ns 

And  the  oriole  sings  to  the  moon. 

THE  BASKET  MAKER 

The  basket  maker,  she  is  young,— 

Joyous  flowers  her  soul! 
Impatient  at  her  task,  she  longs 

To  leave  ere  evening's  toll. 

A  golden  time  is  o'er  the  land, 
She  dances  the  twilight  hours, 

To  meet  bronzed  Love  in  leafy  wood, 
Her  fair  form  twined  with  flowers. 


The  basket  maker,  she  is  wed. 

A  pure  love  lights  her  heart. 
Her  joy  she  weaves  in  fair  design, 

Her  dreams  ere  they  depart. 


The  basket  maker  she  is  old. 

She  weaves  still  in  the  sun; 
Her  memories  all  go  in  the  plan, 

Ere  willowed  frame's  begun. 
146 


MAHALA  (THE  WEEPER) 

Mahala,  the  weeper,  weeping  for  her  dead! 
Mahala,  the  weeper,  weeping  that  life's  fled! 
Draw  from  her  brow  the  curtain  of  her  fears, 
Catch  from  her  eyes  the  treasure  of  her  tears! 

Struggling  to  the  top  of  the  mountain  bare 
Stooping,  her  dead  to  bury  there; 
Mahala,  still  weeping  through  the  days, — 
Her  tears  form  lakes  and  waterways. 

A  form  colossal  there  she  stands, 
Peering  o'er  the  desert  lands; 
Far-searching  in  the  clouds  relief 
For  the  burden  of  her  grief. 

The  weeper  chants  amid  her  tears, 
Through  endless  ages,  weary  years. 
A  valley  fair  blooms  in  her  sight; 
She  sees  naught  but  the  gloom  of  night. 

Her  tears  have  caused  the  flowers  to  spring 
From  her  dead  lover's  slumbering. 
But  Mahala,  weeping  'gainst  the  sky, 
Ne'er  stoops  to  see  them  trooping  by. 


147 


LAUGHING  MARY* 

Redwood's  temples  cleave  the  heav'n, 
Song  of  singing  birds  at  ev'n; 
Notes  of  dove  and  thrush  and  hark! 
Liquid  tongue  of  meadow  lark! 

Melting  snows  'pon  mountain's  seam; 
Soars  the  tuneful  summer  dream; 
Wheels  the  hawk  in  circles  bold  - 
Monarch-eagles  reigned  of  old! 

In  the  fertile  Humbolt  Valley 

Dwelled  Indian  chiefs  of  mighty  mind: 

Forms  that  rivalled  the  tall  sequoia, 

Strength  and  grace  and  height  combined! 

Nations  four,  tilled  this  same  valley; 

Hunted  far  the  fleet-foot  deer; 
The  mountain  lion  creeping  nearer;  — 

Jungle-eyes,  bold  lights  of  fear;  — 

Scanned  the  far,  fog- wreathed  horizon; 

Indians  crouching  closer  —  Hark ! 
To  arrows,  streaks  from  heav'n; 

Bullets  whizzing  like  the  bark 

Of  the  bolts  of  Smoking  Mountain,  - 
Great  White  Spirit's  sleight  of  hand,  — 

*I'm  indebted  for  the  subject  of  this  story-poem  to  Mrs. 
F.  •  P.  Herrick,  California's  noted  anthropologist,  of 
Humbolt  County. 

148 


To  the  frequent  earthquake  rumble  — 
Sounds  to  wither  heart  of  man. 

Proudly  erect  the  Great  Bull  Chieftain  — 
Aged  chief  of  a  powerful  tribe  — 

Sat  in  council  with  his  circle, 

His  braves  these  wonders  to  describe. 

Pondering  deep  o'er  spirit-meaning 
Of  each  phenomena  as  it  came, 

Phantoms,  foll'wing  the  Indian's  action, 
Hush  the  children  in  their  game! 

For  by  sign  and  terrible  symbol, 

Dreaming  flowers  and  skies  all  smiles, 

Doth  Great  Spirit  teach  his  children  — 
Legends  weird  their  tale  beguiles, — 

Basket  weaving,  color  poems, 
Pictures,  sculpture,  all  entwined ; 

Art  of  ages  whose  tradition 

Is  lost,  though  in  the  heart  enshrined; 

Carries  the  soul  of  Indian  Maiden 
Upon  expanded  wings  of  dreams, 

As  she  forms  the  endless  pattern  — 
Patient  beauty  without  seams. 

Well  she  knows  the  old  tradition; 

No  patterns  must  be  quite  the  same,— 
Since  the  fate  of  that  Indian  maiden, 

Kind  of  heart  and  fab  of  fame, 
149 


To  whom  was  meted  death  appalling; 

Whom  the  angry  cinnamon  bear, 
At  the  edge  of  forest  calling 

Desiring  but  to  rend  and  tear. 

Sighted  with  two  beauteous  baskets, — 
Equal  do  the  patterns  run, — 

Devoured  with  hunger,  leaping  passion, 
Maid  and  basket,  sparing  one. 

Fraught  with  fears,  the  simple  story; 

Weaves  the  maid  her  heart's  desires; 
Yet  who  duplicates  a  pattern 

Prepares  her  death  and,  swift,  expires. 


When  the  tottering  Great  Bull  Chieftain, — 
Borne  by  faithful  daughters  dear 

To  the  square  where  cruel  strangers, — 

Meeting  death  with  with  dearth  of  tear, — 

Mocked  the  Indian,  twain ed  his  power, 
Robbed  him  of  his  lands  and  streams, — 

Heard  the  sentence,  eyes  to  heaven  — 
Where  Eternal  Justice  seems  — 

He  sadly,  tearfully,  'proached  the  stranger, 
Who  heard  with  looks  that  shamed  his  birth : 

"  Whither  send'st  me  now,  O  stranger! 
Age  has  fallen  upon  my  earth. 

"  Closed  my  sight  to  new  adventures, 
Stringed  my  bow  with  arrows  soft; 

150 


'Sire  1  now  hut  dreaming  reverie, 
Peaceful  passage  —  mine  eyes  aloft ! 

Ton  wings  spread  like  paddles,  dipping 
Ton  the  quiet  river's  breast! 

'Sire  I  but  the  bird  notes  rippling 

Gloomy  thoughts  must  find  their  rest  1 

"  Love  I  kingdom  of  my  fathers, 
Mine  before  thy  pale  white  face, 

Swept  by  great  white  canoe's  gliding, 
Came  as  star  to  blind  my  race! 

"  I  gave  thee  shelter,  gave  thee  welcome, 
Gave  thee  of  our  forest's  best; 

Lulled  thy  fears  to  peaceful  slumbers ; 
Gave  thee  arrows  like  the  rest! 

"  Gave  thee  of  the  rattler's  poison; 

Stringed  thy  bow,  thy  courage  tipped; 
Guided  thee  through  the  darkened  forest, 

To  where  the  river,  broken -lipped, 

Poured  forth  frothing,  foaming  waters : 
Guided  well  thy  canoe's  flight : 

Skim'd  the  current,  specter-haunted  — 
Paddles  dipping  swift  and  light. 

"  Now  you  come  to  me  with  message 
From  an  unknown  white  chief  dread; 

Rob  me  of  my  ancestral  kingdom; 
For  my  kindness  strike  me  dead!  " 
151 


Buried  they  the  broken  chieftain 
Beside  ocean's  shifting  sands, — 

Gold  shores  lapped  by  kissing  wavelets, 
Searching  far  for  maidens'  hands! 

Gulls  awing  cry  out  a  warning, 
Circling  high  above  the  place 

Waves  croon  to  the  peerless  chieftain, 
Pattern  for  the  pale-faced  race! 

To  the  limited  Reservation 

Hie  the  sorrowful  Indian  braves  — 

Squaws,  papooses,  weeping  daughters, 
Parted  from  their  ancestral  graves! 

Never  more,  'pon  winged  snowshoes, 
Theirs  the  forest,  free  to  roam; 

Ever  this  sad  reservation, 

Bound  by  laws,  must  be  their  home! 

E'en  their  tuneful  nomenclature, — 
Words  that  spell  the  river's  sigh, 

Song,  cloud-birds,  flight  of  swallow, 
Soughing  winds,  snows  swirling  by  — 

Changed  to  Christian  names  unnius'cal 

Spelling  nothing  under  sun! 
Descending  like  the  hand  of  winter 

E'er  the  autumn's  well  begun! 

Given  their  choice,  the  sacred  "  Mary," 
Watered  by  dim  centuries'  tears, 
152 


Wooed  the  ear  like  waters  dropping, 
'Suaged  the  morning  of  their  fears! 

'Tis  no  romance  to  embroider 

Tale  remote  in  fancy's  frame, 
That  some  hundred  savage  maidens 

Chose  the  Blessed  Mother's  name! 

Throughout  all  the  sad,  sad  acres 
Set  aside  for  the  Indian's  home; 

Laughing  Mary,  wooing  pleasure 
Blossom-twined  'dored  to  roam. 

Seeking  far  the  white  clematis  — 
Tangled  stars  in  heaven's  green, — 

Calling  to  the  Shasta  lilies  — 

Mountains  heaving  sighs  between! 

Laughing  Mary,  wooed  of  lovers, 
Tho'  twas  e'er  her  right  to  woo  — 

Through  custom  handed  down  the  ages, 
Though  sacred,  condemned  by  lovers  two, 

Longing  each  to  hear  the  footfall 

Of  Laughing  Mary,  long  their  choice, 

With  the  sounds  of  night  atremble, 

Throbbing  through  her  pleading  voice. 

Face  veiled  by  a  web  of  darkness 
Formed  by  meshes  of  her  hair; 

Singing  of  her  many  virtues 

Through  the  hours  lingering  there 
158 


Till  the  night  owl  strikes  accomp'ment, 
Cricket  reads  his  twilight  book; 

And  the  forest  wakes  and  shivers; 
Flowers  crane  their  necks  to  look. 

To  be  ta'en  by  watching  lover 
Into  his  house,  his  fire  to  tend, — 

To  bear  his  children,  speed  his  hunting, 
Patiently  his  feast-robes  blend, 


Voices  break  the  frosted  stillness, 
Vaulting,  leaping,  sliding  down, 

Mary  listens,  panting,  sighing, 

With  smiles  tear-shaken,  lacey  frown. 

"  Laughing  Mary 
Silver  laughter; 
Flying  Feet 
Where  grasses  meet! 
She  cannot  say 
O  happy  day! 

For  the  hour  is  sad, —  ah,  me!  ah,  me! 

She  cannot  choose  'tween  warrior  soul; 
She  cannot  woo  as  maids  can  see; 

She  knows  not  what  the  days  may  toll ! 

"  There's  gay  Tail  Feather  light  of  mood 
A  gambler  born  a  ne'er-do-well; 

Tho'  rated  low  in  nation's  coin, — 
A  maiden's  fancy  who  can  tell  ?  " 

154 


Rushes  eager  by  the  lake, 

The  thirsty  deer  his  thirst  doth  slake, 
Rabbit,  squirrel,  frisky  tail, 

The  Indian  maid  swings  down  the  trail. 

Joins  her  in  the  twilight  cold, 

Swiftly  running,  Eagle  Bold; 
Wooes  the  girl  by  star-lit  rill  - 

Waters  icy  from  the  hill. 

"  O  fairest  maid, 

Maid  of  Laughing! 

Beware  of  treach'rous  Feather  Tail! 

He's  made  vile  vow 

That  you  he'll  woo; 

His  squaw  he'll  take  far  up  the  trail! 

"  Of  alien  race 

He'll  not  be  kind! 

Your  flower-spirit  thongs  will  bind, 

O  maid  of  laughing,  listen  well 

To  the  swift  tale  that  I  shall  tell! 

"  Mayhap  in  thy  sweet  young  childhood 

Tendered  I  my  boyish  suit; 
For  thee  pulled  forbidden  blossoms, 

Robbed  the  stirring,  struggling  fruit! 

"  Wasted  gifts  of  the  Great  Spirit 
For  thy  tender,  sweet  caprice; 

On  thy  trickling  laughter  hanging, 
'Comp'n'ing  thee  to  sacred  feast. 

15.3 


"  Culled  for  thee  the  twining  flower, 
Stars  to  braid  with  thy  dark  hair, — 

Later  found  thee  Shasta  daisies: 
Brought  thee  lilies,  pure  and  fair. 

"  Hard  the  way  and  long  the  journey 
To  snow-hooded  Shasta's  side. 

Yet  from  there  I've  brought  thee  lilies  — 
Whitest  lilies  for  my  bride!  " 

Then  the  laughing  Mary  falters, 
Gazing  first  at  the  speeling  skies; 

Wooing  with  soft  eyes  the  forest, 

Winged  with  rustling,  indrawn  sighs: 

Listening  to  soft  chanting  waters, 
Rustling  rushes  seared  and  pale; 

Far  off  roar  of  great-waved  ocean, 
Foil 'wing  footprints  of  the  gale. 

Back  to  stalwart  Eagle  Feather, 
Bronze  of  face  and  bronze  of  limb, 

Polished  like  a  brazen  armor;  — 
Shining  eyes,  like  lamps,  are  dim. 

"  Son  of  Bull,  O!  great  Gray  Eagle! 

Strong  art  thou,  surpassing  fair! 
Honored  am  I  among  maidens!  " 

Here  she  loosed  her  braids  of  hair. 

O'er  her  face  a  dark,  sweet  curtain, 
Veiled  mysteries  in  her  eyes, 
156 


Bending  'fore  him,  humble,  tearful, 
While  his  are  two  pray'rful  fires! 

Voices  break  the  glowing  stillness; 
Leaping,  laughing,  sliding  down. 

'  Laughing  Mary! 
Silver  Laughter! 
Flying  Feet! 
Where  waters  meet!  " 

Now  speeds  her  cry:   "  Oh,  blest  am  I! 

The  day  is  glad  you  see,  you  see! 
Choose  I  Eagle  Feather  Bold. 

He  chooses  me,  oh,  tree,  oh,  tree! 
He  chooses  me:   oh,  flower!   oh,  flower! 
He  chooses  me,  oh,  silvery  hour!  " 

Tail  Feather  gay  appeared  that  day, 
And  with  the  rest,  was  at  his  best! 

But  in  his  heart,  a  planted  dart! 

And  'neath  his  eyelids  embers  smart! 
He's  vowed  revenge  'pon  Eagle  Bold 

To  be  'complished  e'er  the  moon  is  old! 

In  a  cabin  dark, 

Lit  by  the  spark 

Of  candles  blear, 

The  stakes  appear! 

The  rounded  sticks, — 

There  are  but  six, — 

Kept  by  exultant  Feather  Tail! 

157 


E'er  midnight's  toll 
The  game  is  old; 
Bold  Eagle's  bride 
111  doth  betide! 

The  candle  sputters  in  the  gale. 
Bold  Eagle  survives  to  tell  the  tale! 
O  Great  Spirit,  take,  take  to  thee 
Laughing  Mary,  e'er  the  day 
Forks  in  splendor  o'er  the  sea! 
O  darkness,  stay,  O  darkness,  stay! 

Laughing  Mary  gambled  aAvay 

By  Eagle  Bold,  e'en  her  dear  chief; 

Giv'n  to  treacherous  Feather  Tail; 
In  faith,  in  faith,  'tis  'yond  belief! 

The  Indian  bride, 

Of  laughing  breath, 
Swift  must  decide, — 

'Tis  life  or  death! 

The  jewelled  flames 

Her  slender  feet, 

Bereft  of  beaded  moccasin,  greet. 

The  smouldering  coals! 

Ah!  great  the  pain! 

Her  song  is  vain! 

Vain  agony,  tho'  her  nerve  is  grim, 
Endured  that  she  may  remain  with  him,- 
Her  chief  so  dear, 

158 


Who'll  soon  appear 

With  Feather  Tail ! 

Then  to  the  trail  - 

No  power  can  her  torture  dim! 

Conies  Feather  Tail  with  Eagle  Bold, 
The  stake  all  lost,  fair  Mary  sold; 
She  shows  her  heel  —  with  laughing  face  - 
Endurance  is  the  test  of  race. 

The  bone  all  charred;   her  death-song  sure; 
Her  face  is  soft,  her  soul  is  pure; 
She's  lost  to  both  —  the  stake  was  life! 
Her  life  she  gives  —  now  ends  all  strife 

Tween  Feather  Tail  and  Eagle  Bold ! 
Old  the  story  —  the  legend  told ; 
Laughing  Mary  wakes  in  spring 
To  ride  the  tides  that  rivers  bring. 


159 


DIALECT  SONGS 
AND  LIGHT  VERSE 


KEEP  MOV  IN 

Niggahs  in  the  co'nfield 
Bend  in'  low,  bendin'  low. 

Xiggah  in  the  cotton  patch 
Watch  'em  go,  watch  'em  go. 

"Keep  movin',  niggah*. 

Cotch  up,  I  say. 
Don't  yo*  know  ole  Mam-tab,  '* 

On  de  way  — 
Cyan't  yo'  hear  his  horse  hoofs 

Gallopin'  down  de  road! 
Keep  movin',  nig-gahs, 

Wid  dat  load!" 

Niggahs  in  de  co'nfield 

On  de  run, 
Ole  marster's  com- in 

Wid  dat  gun! 
Hurry  up,  nig-gahs, 

Wid  dat  load; 
Ole  marster's  com-in' 

Down  de  road! 

Whup  up,  niggahs, 

Git  er  move,  git  er  move; 

Swing  straight  er  head 
In  dat  grove,  in  dat  grove ! 

Git  er  move  on,  nig-gahs! 

Heave  erhead,  heave  erhead  - 

Suppah's  comin'  an'  de  feader  bed! 
163 


Niggalis  in  de  co'nfield 
Bendin'  low,  bendin'  low, 

Keep  it  up,  nig-gahs, 
On  de  go!  On  de  go! 

Whup  up,  niggahs! 

Pick  dat  corn,  pick  dat  co'n ! 
De  moon  am  er  hazin', 

All  ferlo'n,  all  ferlo'n ! 

De  sun  am  er  settin,' 

O'  de  hill,  o'  de  hill, 
De  lawd  am  er  lookin' 

Ef  yer  spill,  ef  yer  spill. 

Hurry  up,  nig-gahs, 

Wid  dat  load, 
Ole  Marster's  comin' 

A-down  —  a  de  —  road ! 

Niggahs  in  de  co'nfield 
Restin'  easy,  restin'  easy ; 

De  gals  am  larf 'n' 

An'  de  bucks  am  breezy! 

Niggahs  on  de  home  road, 
Steppin'  high,  steppin'  high, 

Ole  Mistis'  kerr'dge 

A-passin'  by  —  a-passin'  by. 


164 


YOU'S  TREATED  ME  MEAN 

A  little  brown  coon  loved  a  colored  maid, 
Oh,  he  loved  a  maid, 
Of  a  luscious  build  and  a  dusky  shade; — 
Oh!  a  dusky  shade! 

She  was  tall  and  broad  and  large  in  the  girth, 
Oh!  large  in  girth; 

That  made  her  seem  of  a  double  worth, 
Oh !  of  double  worth ! 

She  told  the  brown  coon  she  would  marry  him, 

She  would  marry  him ! 

Then  she  turned  right  'round  and  "took  up' 

with  Jim, 
She  "took  up"  with  Jim! 

The  little  brown  coon  turned  a  trifle  pale, — 
Oh!  a  trifle  pale. 

His  sad,  sad  fate  with  flowing  tears  bewailed, 
With  tears  bewailed. 

You's  treated  me  mean, 
Mah  dusky  queen! 
It  is  a  shame. 
Oh!  a  cru'l  shame, 
Yet  you,  mah  baby, 
I  do  not  berl-lame, 
I  do  not  berl-lame; 
165 


Hit's  dot  blamed  Jim. 

Dot  I  berl-lame, 

Dot  I  berl-lame. 

Do  you's  treated  me  mean, 

Mah  dusky  queen! 

You's  treated  me  shameful, 

You's  treated  me  mean. 


O  SALLIE  ANNE 

O  Sallie  Anne!     O  Sallie  Anne! 

Where  have  you  been  to-day  ? 
To  gather  pearls  upon  a  string 

Or  hearts  along  the  way  ? 

O  Sallie  Anne!     O  Sallie  Anne! 

Who  may  your  sweetheart  be  ? 
Jack,  John,  or  Jim,  or  grand  old  Ned  ? 

Say,  dear,  could  it  be  me  ? 

O  Sallie  Anne!     O  Sallie  Anne! 

Fain  would  I  go  away, 
Prom  your  soft  wiles,  your  maiden  guiles, 

But,  hang  it!     I  shall  stay! 


166 


HOOT,  OWL,  HOOT!  UP  DAT  TREE 

Hoot,  owl,  hoot,  up  dat  tree! 
Whah  de  yaith  kin  yo'  sinses  be, — 
A'sleepin'  an'  sleepin'  de  hull  day  thru' 
Wen  de  sun's  done  come  out  jes'  fur  you. 

Hoot,  owl,  hoot,  up  dat  tree! 
Yer's  jes'  er  fool  niggah,  'deed  yer  be, 
Xary  bit  o'  gumption  in  yo'  haid, — 
Asleepin'  an'  sleepin'  lak  yer's  daid. 

Hoot,  owl,  hoot!     up  dat  tree! 
De  sun's  gone  ter  sleep  wid  de  bumble  bee; 
De  onery  bat's  come  out  f  om  'er  hole, 
An'  de  big  musk  rat's  beginnin'  ter  scole. 

Hoot,  owl,  hoot!  up  dat  tree! 

De  ole  owl  wuz  daid  in  de  hick-o-ree! 

S-sh!   s-sh!     'Taint  no  use 

Ter  call  de  cawps  er  onery  goose. 

Hoot,  owl,  hoot,  up  dat  tree  — 

Ssh  —  s  —  sh !    Hoot !     Hoot ! 

Hoot,  owl,  hoot,  up  dat  tree! 

Lor'  whut  er  fool  free  niggah  dis  chile  kin  be! 


167 


MY  LILL'  YALLER  ROSE 

Come,  mah  lill'  Yaller  Rose, 
Whah  de  warm  south  wind  blows; 

Far  from  de  freezin'  snows, — 
O  mah  liT  Yaller  Rose. 

We'll  go  down  South  togethah; — 
Don't  ever  mind  the  weathah; — 

I'll  hoi'  yo'  near  mah  heart 

An'  never  mo'  we'll  part, — 
O  mah  lill'  Yaller  Rose. 

The  moon  shines  on  the  bayou 

The  banjos  am  aplay'n* 

While  the  niggahs  dance  de  breakdown 

To  de  olefermilliah  strain. 

We'll  go  down  South  togethah, 
Whah  married  we  will  be, 
An'  ebbery  coon  what  grows 
Will  want  mah  Yaller  Rose. 


168 


WILL  YOU  BE  MY  SQUAW-MAN  ? 

Way  beyond  the  mountain, 

Way  out  upon  the  plain, 
Weeps  an  Indian  Maiden, — 

Her  name  is  "  Little  Rain." 

Will  you  be  my  squaw-man  ? 

Will  you  come  be  my  chief  ? 
I'm  your  little  Redskin, 

Loving  to  her  grief. 

Fair  Sonoma  is  my  name, 

Though  I'm  called  the  "  Little  Rain" 
See  in  me  a  princess  born, 

Laughing  modesty  to  scorn. 

Will  you  be  my  squaw-man  ? 

Tell  Sonoma  the  Indian, 
Patting  her  beaded  feet 

Running  your  love  to  meet. 

I  will  hoe  your  rows  of  corn, 

I'll  always  drive  the  plow, 
I  will  kiss  away  the  clouds 

From  my  white  chieftain's  brow. 

I  will  carry  the  papoose, 
Arunning  by  your  side, 

169 


I  will  keep  up  with  the  steed 
Which  you,  my  chief,  may  ride. 

I  will  bake  the  corncake, 

Akneeling  by  the  fire, 
Sitting  humbly  at  your  feet 

While  you  smoke  your  briar. 

I  will  draw  the  water 
And  I  will  cut  the  wood. 

Will  you  be  my  squaw-man 
If  I  promise  to  be  good  ? 


LULLABY,  DE  CONJURE  EYE 

Lul-la-by,  de  conjure  eye, 

Am  lookin'  at  yen,  honey; 

So  go  bye  bye! 

De  ole  black  witch 

Am  comin'  wid  de  switch. 

So  shet  yo'  eyes,  mah  baby, 

An'  go  bye  bye. 

De  ole  black  debble 
Am  aspittin'  in  de  fiah, 
So  lay  yo'  sleepy  haid 
On  yo'  ole  Mariah. 

170 


De  goblins  am  ascreechin' 
Thru  de  big  key-hole; 
So  go  ter  sleep,  mah  baby, 
Befo'  (le    scole. 


aired,  mah  hotiey, 
On  ole  mummy's  boo-swn,  — 
De  debble's  gwine  ter  ketch  yeh,  sho! 
Hut  tf  yeh'  II  go  ter  sleep 
An'  nebber  min'  ter  peep 
Ah'll  slam  'is  tail  between  de  do  '. 
Nebber  min',  mah  iv'ite  chile, 

Dah!     Dak! 
Did  its  mammy  sheer  it? 

Thah!     Thah! 
Yeh'd  bettah  go  ter  sleep, 
'Cause  de  angel  yeh'  II  keep 
Awaitin'  'fore  de  shinin'  gate. 
He  stains  dah  awaitin' 
Asmilin'  all  d#  tv'Ue, 
Fo'  mammy's  own  darlin', 
Er  li'lk  w'ite  chile. 


171 


MAMMY'S  FAV'RITE 

It  ana  mammy's  fav'rite  kinky  head! 
Jest  let  me  tuck  yer  nice  in  yo'  bed; 
De  ole  moon's  shinin'  thru  de  blin's — 
Fo'  it's  own  mammy's  fav'rite  sho'  it  shines. 

Mammy's  got  othah  chil'ren,  all  growed  up, 
But  dey  ain'  worth  a  breakfus'  let  'lone  a  sup, 
Dey's  gwine  and  got  married,  up  an'  gawn; 
Dat's  w'y  mammy's  fav'rite  come  ter  be  bawn. 

De  good  Lawd  know'd  how  lonesome  it  wuz, — 
Jes'  der  cat  ter  pet  an'  de  kittle  ter  buzz, — 
But  it's  diffrunt  now,  mah  kinky  head ! 
So  lay  down  quiet,  right  in  yo'  bed. 

Go,  go  ter  sleep, 

The  Shepherd  keep 

Mah  baby  safe  an'  soun'! 

Blow,  blow,  wind,  blow, — 

But  softly  go 

Wen  baby  is  aroun'l 

'Cause  he's  his  mammy's  fav'rite  baby  boy, 

He's  de  onliest  one  dat  gibs  'er  joy; 

De  udders  have  all  gone  far  away, 

But  it's  mammy's  fav'rite's  gwine  ter  stay. 


172 


I'M  LONESOME  AND  I'M  BLUE 

I'm  lonesome  and  I'm  blue 

Tain't  no  secret  I  tell  you, 

That  this  here  buck's  down  on  his  luck  — 

I'm  lonesome  and  I'm  blue. 

It's  five  long  years  to-day 
Since  I  loved  Sarah  Fay, 
A  winsome  lass  of  Jimpson  town, 
A  daisy,  I  tell  you! 

She  milked  the  cow  by  dawn  - 
Old  Brindle,  crumpled  horn, — 
She  sewed  and  baked  and  made  a  cake, 
I'm  lonesome  —  and  I'm  —  blue. 

The  years  they  came  and  went; 
My  back  was  stooped  and  bent; 
I  had  no  time  for  Sunday  clothes; — 
I'm  lonesome  and  I'm  blue. 

Sarah  she  blurted  out, 

"I'm  going  to  town,  you  clout! 

A  bran'  new  beau  I'll  find,  you  see, 

Who  in  good  time  will  marry  me!" 

I'm  so  lonesome  that  I'm  blue, 
It's  the  truth  I  tell,  I  do! 
I've  bought  a  swell  new  swalhnv-tail, 
But  Sarah  Fay's  gone  down  the  rail; 
I'm  lone-some  —  and  —  I'm  —  blue! 
178 


I'M  GOIN'  A-COTIN' 

I'm  goin'  aco'tin'  keep  out'n  mah  way; 
'Cause  I  don'  know  what  I'm  agwine  ter  say! 
Mah  mind's  made  up,  mah  swallertail's  on, — 
I'm  agoin'  aco'tin'  sho's  you're  born. 

Oh,  it's  co'tin  I'm  going'  ter  mah  8ary  Anne! 
Ebberything  am  swimmin'  ter  beat  de  ban. 
Sary  comes  down  like  a  squshy  peach, 
An'  falls  ter  de  groun'  jes'  'm  mah  reach. 

I'm  jes'  plumb  crazy  'bout  dat  Sary  Anne; 
I'm  clean  pussuaded  dat  I'm  de  right  man. 
But  what  gits  me  is  what  I'm  gwine  ter  say, 
Do'  I'm  goin'  aco'tin'  dis  very  same  day. 

Sary  Anne  am  scrumptious  an'  mighty  fine, 
I'm  clean  abustin'  ter  call  'er  mine. 
I  takes  'er  han'  an'  I  say,"  Look  a  yere, 
I'm  yo'  honey  an'  you's  mah  deah." 

I'm  goin'  a-co'tin',  keep  out  o'  de  road, 
They  ain't  roomfo'  two  an'  you're  nary  good! 
It's  me  Sary's  artah  dis  berry  day, 
I'm  goin'  aco'tin',  an'  I'm  on  de  way. 


174 


COTTON  PICKIN'  JOE 

It's  cotton  pickin'  time, 
What  comes  ebbery  year. 
De  niggahs  am  a'singin' 
Wid  welcum  cheer. 

Out  in  de  shinin'  fields, 
Ashinin'  lak  de  snow, 
Comes  women  an'  de  gals, 
Each  wid  'er  beau. 

Dah's  makin'  goo-goo  eyes, 
Dah's  squeezin'  ob  de  hands, — 
Dah's  co'tin'  'mong  de  cotton 
In  all  de  lands. 

Dah's  Cotton  Pickin'  Joe  - 
Mah  yaller-skinned  beau, 
De  peartest,  swiftest  hand, 
'Cept  Sue's  ole  man. 

He  meks  er  scrumptious  bow 
Astruttin'  down  de  row. 
An'  Paw  he  come  afussin'- 
He  comes  almos'  acussin': 

Hoe,  hoe,  mah  Cotton  Pickin  Joe! 
Pull  de  wife  cotton  f'om  ebbery  row. 
Yo'  honey,  May  Ellen,  is  comin'  on  yo'  stoic: 
Pick  dat  'ere  cotton,  mah  Cotton  Pickin'  Joe. 
175 


I'M  AGOIN'  AWAY 

I'm  agoin'  somewhah,  I'm  goin'  away, 
My  bonnet's  on,  an'  I'm  agoin'  to  stay; — 
I  lef '  de  chillun  on  de  flo', 
My  ole  man  apoundin'  on  de  do;  — 
I'm  agoin'  away. 

I'm  agoin'  a-wa-ay, 
I'll  a  be  back-a-some-day! 
'Zander,  mind  that  kitchen  fiah; 
Keep  yo'  sheep's  eyes  off'n  Maria;  — 
I'm  agoin'  away. 

I've  had  no  fun  an'  nary  sho', 
Seed  no  theater  nor  a  beau; 
Jes'  scrubbin  an'  cookin'  an'  slavin' 
For  a  man  what's  drunk  an  ain't  'havin',- 
I'm  agoin'  away. 

I'm  agoin'  to  ride  on  boat  an'  train; 
I'll  see  de  sights  onct  mo'  ergain; 
I'll  buy  some  clo'es  what's  in  de  style; 
My  ole  man  won't  know  'is  "  white  chile  ;"- 
I'm  agoin'  away. 

An'  den  I'm  agoin'  on  de  stage; 
I'll  bet  you'll  see  I'm  all  de  rage! 
I'll  bust  dem  footlights  heel  an'  toe 
An'  get  myse'f  a  dudish  beau, 
I'm  agoin'  a-way. 
176 


I'm  agoin'  a-wa-ay. 
An  a-mebbe  I'll  stay; 
I've  got  de  talents,  kin  not  shirk, 
Zander,  you  kin-a-do-de-vnick, 
I'm  agoin'  away. 


SHE'S  CULLUD  SAME  AS  ME 

Jeems,  come  quick  lo  yo'  lady  luv! 

Mah  heart  am  growin'  cold, 
Yo's  done  flirted  with  dat  yaller  gal 

Tell  I've  a  mind  to  scold . 

I  kno'  she  kin  dance  de  'Ginia  reel, — 
Afloatin'  down  de  middle  lak  er  cloud ,- 

But  w'en  it  comes  to  de  ole  cake  walk, 
Yo'  niggah  gal  '11  do  yo'  proud. 

She's  culliid  same  ez  me, 

So  coon,  jes'  let  'er  be! 
Stop  dat  —  a  —  goo  —  gooin'— 

I  let  yo'  kno'  I  ain'foo'in', — 
She's  cullud  same  ez  me, — 

Same  — ez  —  me! 


She's  cullud  same  ez  me ! 

De  possum's  up  de  tree! 
Go  prove  yu  luv  and  git  'um 

Fo'  you  comes  shy'n  ter  me  — 
177 


Stop,  dah's  'Manda  gwinin' 
Ter  de  meetin'  in  'er  bes'. 

Stay  right  home  an'  mend  yo'  ways  - 
Dis  niggah  is  de  bes': — 

She  'tis  kin  rnek  de  hoe  cake  brown 
She  'tis  dat's  genwine  goods  — 

Shucks!  dat-agal'sabackin' 
Right  inter  de  woods! 

She's  cullud  same  ez  me ! 

Ef  yer  wants  me  I'll  agree 
Ter  tek  yer  by  pussuasion 

Ef  dat  gal  will  let  yer  be. 


178 


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